


Blood and Energon

by Foxbear



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alaska, Alcan Highway, Camping, Canada, Gen, Glenallen, Other, Raven - Freeform, Semi-trucks, Skeletons, Things that go boomp in the night, trucking, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:25:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxbear/pseuds/Foxbear
Summary: On a long haul with Jack to pick up needed supplies Optimus discovers that there is more to this planet than the humans are telling them. And secrets that the humans are keeping might run right down to the very blood of his human charge.





	1. Chapter 1

A sky blue semi pulled off the Richardson Highway into a remote gas station. A young man lightly hopped down from the cab onto the cracked and patched asphalt and stood glancing around the station. A WWII era leather flight jacket, much patched and mended covered a flannel shirt and faded blue jeans. His jet black hair was tied back in a pony tail. Dark brown eyes and high cheekbones suggested a Native American heritage. Under the dull October sky he stared down at a nearly empty parking lot. The tourists had for the most part fled back to warmer southern regions. At the moment the only other vehicles were a battered old camouflage painted ambulance, and another semi hauling a trailer.

Zechariah Franklin stared in open admiration at the other rig. In sharp contrast to his own truck, the primary red and cobalt blue semi gleamed even under the thick clouds. Every detail of the rough parking lot was reflected in the chrome bumper. The silver tractor trailer positively glowed. It sat low on its shocks, carrying a heavy load.

"Definitely a Peterbilt," Zech murmured and reached back to stroke his own rig, "A younger relative of yours." A sound that might have been a snort emitted from the engine compartment of the 1971 Peterbilt 281. The young man tilted his head and frowned at the logo on the side of the truck. It seemed to be a bold red stylized face. Sad and strong, it stared out across the tundra landscape. A similar face in silver adorned the front grill. Nothing too odd about it, except the young man had never seen it before. It sure didn't herald any of the local trucking companies. It wasn't one of the big national companies. Franklin Trucking had been in the business for four generations. He had grown up knowing every major company, but this was new.

"Where's the Peterbilt logo?" He asked of the surrounding air. The usual red oval was nowhere to be seen on the rig. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Ah well, that just meant it was something to bring up with the driver inside. Truckers loved talking about their custom jobs. He gave the sky blue rig one more quick pat and headed into the grey station store.

The inside of the store, grandiosely if accurately labeled "The Hub of Alaska", was spacious and crowded at the same time. Deliberate chaos probably best described the scene. The ceiling was higher than most gas stations and shelves stocked with every snack food you could imagine, and a few you didn't want to, filled the space. Knick-knack's glittered on worn shelves. A series of decorative wooded planks declared that an old fisherman lived here with the catch of a life time, and other amusing messages. Someone was in the restrooms so Zech wandered the isles looking for something to buy. His family had made sure they were well stocked with snacks before he left on his first solo trip, but a sign on the restrooms declared them for customers only.

After he selected a bag of chips and a hot tea he eyed the only two other customers trying to figure out if either of them drove the gleaming Peterbilt outside. They were both middle-aged Caucasians, probably brothers, Zech speculated as he watched them. Red hair peppered with grey was cropped into crew cuts. They didn't have the look of truckers though. Construction workers, judging from their powerful wrists and shoulders, weather worn faces, and battered hands. The young man caught the scent of the sea drifting off of them. Just up from a fishing trip to Valdez then.

He paid for his things just as a third man came out of one restroom to join the other two. After he had used the restroom he was about to head out to his rig when the other door opened and a young man in cameos stepped out. His blue/grey eyes darted around a little nervously. His dark hair peeked out from under his cap, longer than was strictly regulation. His uniform declared him Private K. Smith, mechanic. Zech frowned again as Private Smith headed for the door, that kid looked way too young to be active duty, but he certainly wasn't one to be casting stones about apparent age. One of the other men, a redhead, intercepted the soldier before he could leave.

"Smith, is it?" The man smiled at the soldier, "I just wanted to thank you for your service to your country," he said sincerely, reaching out to shake the young man's hand. Zech caught a guilty look flash across the soldier's face as he muttered a reply and returned the hand shake. Odd. Zech studied the soldier. Despite his youth his skin had the worn look of the southwest. The uniform he stood so uncomfortably in still held the scent of sand and heat. After the brothers were done with him the young ARMY mechanic slipped out the door and headed directly for the semi. Curiouser and curiouser. Zech trotted out after him and caught up at the tricked out Peterbilt. The other young man turned to face him with a wary look on his face.

"Hey, nice rig," Zech said nodding at the gleaming truck, "specialty job?"

"Oh he's, it's, special all right," replied Smith, immediately warming up and smiling at Zech.

"Yeah, I've never seen a Peterbilt roll off the lot without the company logo. And who owns the truck? That logo doesn't look like any civilian company that usually hauls for the ARMY."

Smith nervously adjusted his Bluetooth earpiece before he replied.

"It's not exactly a civilian rig. It was reformatted later for hauling. The logo is…" his voice faded and Zech could see the gears turning in the other young man's head.

"So I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that if I asked what cargo your hauling I'd either get told it's classified or get a "creative" answer," Zech said divining the source of the soldier's nervousness. A relived look flashed across Smith's face.

"Redundant medical equipment to be donated to charities," he explained creatively.

"Right, so how'd a buck private get stuck hauling 'donations', if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I was there and didn't hide quick enough when the sergeant asked for 'volunteers'", Smith replied with a grin.

"Ha! Well I'm hauling a load of local arts and crafts stuff down to some specialty stores in Cali. If we're going the same way, want to buddy up?"

"Buddy up?" Smith repeated in confusion.

"Oh yeah, you're not a regular civilian driver. I mean travel together like a two truck convoy so we could help each other out and talk to each other. That sort of thing. This is my first long haul out of state and I haven't found a buddy yet," Zech admitted.

"Ah, I don't think," Smith began regretfully. Suddenly he stiffened and glanced at the rig behind him. His finger lightly touched his Bluetooth and his eyes got that unfocused look that signified someone listening to something. Surprise flashed across his face.

"Actually, I could use a buddy. It is going to be a long drive back and this is my first long haul too."

"Great! The names Zech Franklin by the way. Of Franklin Trucking out of North Pole."

"Private Smith out of Fort Wainwright. Nice to meet you Mr. Franklin."

"Please, call me Zech. On the CB I'm Blue Sky. What's your rig's handle?"

"Um," Smith glanced back at the truck at a loss.

Zech frowned to himself. Why would the ARMY send out such an eye catching rig with a driver so inexperienced on a classified mission? He would normally chalk it up to typical government efficiency, but there was something about that truck. It wasn't just eye catching.

"Red Warrior."

Zech glanced back at Smith, who continued.

"Yeah, his call sign is Red Warrior."

"Okay, Sal and I will lead out if that's all right with you. I know this next section pretty well."

"Sal?" Smith asked.

"My rig," Zech explained.

"I thought its name was Blue Sky?" the young soldier said looking in confusion at the old rig.

"No, together Blue Sky is our call sign. Salcha is his name," Zech explained, "The old guy's been in the family business longer than I have."

"Okay then, lead out Blue Sky," Smith leapt up onto the running board and climbed into his cab. Zech jogged over to Salcha and jumped up. He settled into the driver's seat, began the start up process, and felt the engine rev beneath his feet.

In the other rig the young man calling himself Private Smith leaned back in the seat and causally rested his hands on the steering wheel.

"Hey Optimus?" he asked looking at the blinking display's on the dash board as they pulled out to follow Blue Sky.

"Yes Smith?" the Autobot responded, using the cover name even in the privacy of the cab.

"Why exactly are we allowing a civilian to shadow us on our way back to the base?" The young human asked.

"While I have studied the laws of your roads in theory, I have had yet in my time on Earth to have a chance to closely observe a vehicle of similar make to my own over an extended time. This will provide an excellent opportunity for me to hone my ability to blend in on this world. I will be able to learn much of human interactions as well by observing your conversations. Something I have had little time for thus far." The Prime explained. "Also, I thought you would enjoy having a human of similar age to communicate with. It will be at least three days before the journey is done. Our paths will diverge at the city of Eugene, Oregon, but until then the two of you can amuse each other," he continued.

"Oh, thank you," the human said, feeling a little annoyed.   
The trip up from Nevada had been fun. Optimus had told him stories about old Cybertron and the human had responded with stories about growing up on Earth. Their conversations had run deeper at the drive wore on, science philosophy. Somewhat to his surprise he had truly enjoyed spending time alone with Optimus Prime. Now that would be interrupted by this Zech guy. The need to stop for the humans to sleep would slow them down too, adding time to the trip. The human shrugged his shoulders and was careful not to show his annoyance. Optimus was getting a little too good at reading human emotion.

A crackle and buzz filled the cab, followed by,

"Red Warrior! This is Blue Sky, rolling down the Ol' Ricahard free and clear. How you hanging on?"

"Smith" glanced at the display and raised his eyebrows.

"Simply touch the blue section of the screen when you wish to communicate with Mr. Franklin," explained Optimus.

The human nodded and reached out.

"Blue Sky. This is Red Warrior. We're rolling along just fine."

"Wonderful! Eighteen is usually reserved for Franklin Trucking around these parts. Switch on five."

"Come again Blue Sky?" Smith asked in confusion.

"Switch your radio to frequency eighteen so we're not hogging the common signal," explained Zech.

In Optimus's cab the there was a slight change in the flickering displays.

"It is done." The Cybertronian stated.

"Blue Sky." Jack called out. "This is Red Warrior now on eighteen."

"Great! We'll make an honest trucker out of you yet Smith," declared Zech with a laugh. "So I'm gonna guess the usual 'where are you from' conversation starters are off the table. Sports or girls?"

Jackson Darby couldn't help but give a small sigh as he squirmed in too tight ARMY boots. The type of deep conversations he'd been enjoying with leader of the Autobots were likely not on the table either. Ah well, might as well enjoy it.

"How about motorcycles?" He asked. 

Their conversation drifted like these things do as the miles rolled by under the wheels of the trucks. During one lull the young man in the sky blue rig leaned back and stretched his limbs. Despite this lack of contact the truck rolled on uninterrupted, gears shifting and steering wheel turning steadily.

"So Sal what do you think?" Zech asked. 

A deep voice filled the battered interior of the cab. Not from any of the radios, but seemingly from within the engine itself.

"They seem like an odd team." Sal replied. "Why they would entrust a body that nice to such an obviously inexperienced soldier is beyond me. I say we watch this Red Warrior closely. There is more here than we see. "

The human nodded absentmindedly as he studied the red and blue rig in the mirror.

"The kid is obviously hiding something, classified assignment and all that, but did you notice anything, I don't know, odd, about the rig itself?" Zech asked.

"No, but I don't like it for some reason," replied Salcha with annoyance tainting his voice.


	2. Border

Two big rigs rolled easily up to the Canada/US border inspection point. The first, a sky blue Peterbilt needle nose, was waved through with only a cursory inspection. The rig and the driver were both well know and had crossed the border many times in the past. The longest part of the "Inspection" involved the majority of the guards coming out to congratulate the young driver on his first solo crossing. The second, a red and blue rig of much newer make caused a bit more of a stir. The guards carefully inspected the outside of the trailer and looked none too pleased when the young American soldier informed them there would be no inspecting the inside.

Zechariah Franklin pulled his rig over to the side of the road and jumped out. He wandered over to the guards inspecting the load and whispered something in the lead guard's ear. The man in the red uniform looked at him in surprise and the younger man just shrugged his shoulders and smiled. The truck was waved through without further delay.

"Blue Sky. Red Warrior." Jack called out. 

"Go ahead Red Warrior." Zech responded. 

"Thanks for that back there, but what was that?" Jack asked. "You never mentioned having that kind of pull with the Canadian police."

"HA! Back off before you get too impressed." Zech said with a chuckle. "It's not ME. My family has been hauling cargo up and down this track since before that border even existed. Before it was big rigs it was horse and dog teams. We are well known up here and the name Franklin caries a lot of weight. Also they do know me personally. I just vouched for you is all."

"Well thanks." Jack replied in a rueful tone. "I thought this was your first trip though?"

"My first solo," Zech explained. "I do this run with my dad or an uncle at least three times a year. Get a lot of quality bonding time that way."

Jack felt a quick stab of envy go through him. That sounded nice.

"What about school?" Jack asked.

"Homeschooled! Sal here still has long division tats across the back of both seats," Zech smiled as the engine let out a low growl and a belch of black smoke.

"Aw, shadup you big sissy. You couldn't have felt it back then anyway." The young man rubbed the dashboard affectionately.

"Blue Sky, you okay there?" Jack called out. "It looks like your engine is smoking."

Zech shot a disgruntled look in the general direction of the engine compartment and muttered.

"Watch it Sal, this one may just be a wetback Cheechako but he has eyes to see." The young man grabbed the CB mike and called out cheerfully.

"No problem Red Warrior. Sal here runs on an experimental fuel developed by my family. We almost have the formula down pat."   
It was an excuse that worked well in this day and age. It left most people favorably impressed, they understood that you wouldn't want to answer more questions about a proprietary project, and best of all it was most of the truth.

"By the way," rumbled a deep voice from the engine compartment, "this last batch tastes a little funny. I don't think we should store it in Fairbanks over winter anymore. It picks up the smog taint."

"Hmmm, maybe we could keep it out at the farm in Palmer?" Zech suggested.

"Too far out, too warm in the summer," Sal pointed out.

"Well that kind of thing is more Cousin Grange's line of work." Zech said with a shrug. "I'll have him get on finding a better storage place when we get back."

"Fair enough," Sal responded. "If you're still interested I think I've figured out what's been bothering me about our new friends."

Zech stared in surprise at the dash. When Salcha Franklin had formed an opinion of someone it usually took at least an eight point nine on the Richter scale to change it. He had not taken to the soldier at the start of the trip but now he sounded sincere in calling Smith a friend.

"So? You going to tell me?" Zech demanded after a pause.

"They have no scent," Sal sated, Zech could hear the curiosity in the deep voice.

"Ah Cuz, you do mean you can't get an individual scent under the diesel perfume right?" Zech asked frowning.

"No," Sal stated firmly. "There is no diesel odor, or gas for that matter. I can't smell a trace of oil in that engine either, or grease from the axels, tractor or semi. You know how good my sense of smell is," the rig added a bit defensively. "I can track you down in a parking lot no matter what size it is."

"Hey, I believe you bro," Zech hurried to assure his friend. "No one can scent track as good as you can. But if you're not smelling the usual fuel and lube what are you getting?"

There was a moment of silence from the engine compartment.

"How bout we let them pull ahead for a bit." Sal finally offered. "There's a nice head wind and I could get a good smell."

Zech frowned and glanced back at the following rig.

"You know. I'm not sure it's any of our business…" He said slowly. "Either Smith's company is playing a real elaborate prank on him, or he's hauling something top secret. If the cargo is just dead weight and the real issue is the truck we'd be kinda poking our noses into a military secret."

"Zech, it is your civic duty as a human citizen of the United States of America to take an interest in government affairs," began Sal in a toneless voice.  
He seemed about to go on when Zech let out a painful groan and dropped his forehead onto the center of the steering wheel.

"I knew, KNEW, it was a bad idea to have you tutor me for that civics class," moaned the human.

"It is in fact the solemn duty of every man to rise to the…" Sal droned on.

"Okay! Okay! You win. I'll play spy on the buck with you if you just. Stop. Talking." Zech ground out between his teeth.

The engine let out a satisfied hum as the human reached for the mic.

"Red Warrior," Zech called out, "we're bucking a head wind here. Would you mind taking the lead and trail breaking for us for awhile?"

"Roger that, Blue Sky," Smith's voice called out. "We'll take it from here."

Red Warrior gracefully pulled out into the passing lane and slid ahead of the older rig. Zech watched admiringly as the truck moved. Smith might be young but he sure knew how to drive. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something oddly familiar about the way the other young man was moving in the cab. Zech filed it away for further study and focused on distancing Blue Sky for maximum safety and efficiency from Red Warrior. Even before they had settled into cruising position the human could hear the subtle change in the engine as it drew the air over its scent organs. Zech had less time to consider to oddities of Red Warrior now that he was steering. Sal, for all of his many skills, stunk at multitasking. To be fair, maneuvering his huge body down the highway probably involved several tasks already, but even when the rig was stationary he liked to focus on one thing at a time.

Zech let his eyes wander over the scenery as he drove along. The small, scrubby spruce trees that lined this section of the drive marched away in every direction, the same on either side of the border. Nature was truly heedless of political boundaries. A low growl of frustration emanated from the engine drawing Zech's attention away from the green and grey view out the window.

"Hey, don't let the lack of scent get to you. Maybe the spruce smell is covering it," suggested the human.

"No!" snapped the semi irritably. "Remember my sense of smell is far superior to even yours. I can smell that rig perfectly. The human is from the Midwest, Nevada most likely. He is covered in jasper dust. A mining town. There's a garden, he has the smell of the earth about him. He works in a fast food joint. Not one of the major chains, a small place. That uniform he's wearing? It's been out of cold storage maybe a day or two. There's no way he regular ARMY. Can't be more than sixteen."   
The truck fell silent as if satisfied with his display of skill.

Zech's face fell into its familiar frown of thought. Salcha easily had a sense of smell that would put the sharpest bloodhound to shame, and his intuitive skills were second to none, even if his logic occasionally failed. The guard at the border had mentioned that the paperwork for Red Warrior was all in order. So why on earth was the military sanctioning a sixteen year old driving a top of the line Peterbilt down the Alcan?

"You're not getting any scent at all off the rig?" Zech asked.

"That's not what I said," grumbled Sal. "It's just confusing. He too smells of the desert, of dry caves and hot sand. The highways of Nevada. But I can also scent jungle, Taiga, and veldt. Either I'm going mad or that truck has crossed nearly every biome on Earth."

"So? It's a G-rig semi. It gets around a lot," Zech shrugged his shoulders.

In reality he was excited, thrilled by the discoveries Sal was making. But he had long ago learned that sometimes the best way to help his friend along was to play the devil's advocate.

"The African savannah to the Russian Taiga to here in less than three days?" Salcha let out a scoffing noise. "No truck is that fast, not to mention the whole 'oceans in the way' thing, and those scents degrade fast. Then there are the odd smells."

"The odd smells?" Zech asked.

"Zech," Sal said, his voice dropping into a deep musing tone. "I've been living this life for over twenty years now. I've seen every truck on the market in this country and most of them in the others. I've smelled every lube and fuel known to the industry. The scents coming off that truck aren't bad, but I've never scented them before." 

The two fell silent as they rolled out from under the clouds.

What could it all mean? Zech wondered. Like Sal he was developing a fondness for "Smith" and the boy acted as if the orders he was under were both legal and moral by his lights. Just then a memory popped to the surface. The way Smith was driving, so familiar because…

"Sal? I think that truck is driving itself." Zech said with a frown.


	3. Assumptions

A low deep snarl emanated from the engine compartment of the sky blue semi. Zechariah felt the gears tighten as the rig seized control back from the human. The trucks driving became very precise. Zech hurried to reassure his friend.

"Hey, even if that rig is autonomous, it doesn't mean it's another like you. You're one of a kind. Unique." The human was stroking the dashboard soothingly. "I mean think about it. You would have smelled if it was another of your kind. It's a MILITARY rig. I bet were looking at some super advanced robot truck right now!" Solidifying the thought that had been dancing around in his head made Zech suddenly giddy. Science and technology on that level was something he had always dreamed about. "I bet that's the 'medical equipment' in the trailer, the CPU for the rig. It must take loads of processing power to drive it that sweet. Add in some kind of military super fuel and there you go, mystery solved."

The growl from the engine compartment died down to a low rumble as Salcha absorbed the idea from the human. It made sense he grudgingly admitted. But still, the seat-belt tightened protectively around _his_ human. Even if it was just an emotionless robot, Zech was showing way to much interest in the shiny new rig. Salcha heard the young man's breathing grow a little shallower and guiltily let up on the seat belt. He was being irrational he knew. Zech, all the Franklins, were family. They would never abandon him. New rigs came and went. Nevertheless he couldn't shake his irritation at the other big rig, inanimate object or not.

Now the kid, he seemed nice. He was well spoken, polite, and clearly very intelligent. Sal wondered if he might be looking for a hauling job in a few years. Franklin Trucking never hired under eighteen, and usually not under twenty-three, but the kid seemed to hold up well on the long hauls. Still he was young now…

"That still doesn't answer the question of why they are sending it across two countries in the care of a teenager," pointed out the big rig. "Or why he's lying about being stationed in Fort Wainwright. Or how that rig picked up scents from all over the world in under three days."

Zech shrugged.

"Well, if we're assuming a giant self driving robot truck. I'd say for testing. They want to see how it holds up and reacts under various conditions. Putting a completely inexperienced driver behind the wheel would certainly make the results far more dependent on the rig's own abilities instead of the driver's skill, and using some officer's son would clear out a lot of paperwork."

Salcha hummed back sulkily. There was way too much admiration in the young man's voice. But he was right dang it. What he said made sense. They would only be traveling together until Eugene anyway, and that Smith kid would probably get lonely with only a robot to talk to. A mindless, boring , pile of silicon, and metal, Sal thought a little smugly. Yes, these silly inventions of the humans would keep getting more and more annoying, but they would never replace real living beings in the humans' affections.

A new thought occurred to him. The Franklins, but especially Zech, were constantly bugging him to upgrade the non-essential parts of his body. That new Peterbilt looked good he admitted grudgingly. Maybe it was time to replace a few worn parts. He had managed to infuse the last set of smoke stacks with live nerves in less than a month. Each new part was getting easier to assimilate, and the bumper did look sweet. There was the pain of removing the old parts of course, and welding the new back on, but he could take it. He turned control back over to the human and began really looking the other truck over. Sweet smoke stacks, gleaming hubs, and maybe a specialized logo…

Zech sensed the sudden shift in his friend's mood and rolled his eyes. Like Mom taught him, he tried not to judge, every creature on Earth was made different. If Sal was crazy moody he was dependable as a good knife on the road, far more so than most human partners.

"Blue Sky, Red Warrior," the CB came alive.

"Go ahead, Red Warrior." Zech answered. 

"About tonight, when were you planning on sleeping? I guess you know the best places along the route." Smith asked.

"Well that depends." Zech replied, leaning back against the worn seat cover. "Were you thinking about a hotel or cab camping?"

There was a pause as the inexperienced trucker seemed to consider what the question meant.

"Ah, I'll be staying with Red Warrior." He finally answered. 

"Cab camping it is then," Zech called out cheerfully.

Sal let out a low growl, just to remind the human that they never did anything else.

"Chill bro, I just had to offer the option to the Cheechako," Zech gave a playful kick in the general direction of the engine.

"What's your food situation?" Zech continued.

"I've got plenty, so there's no need to stop for provisions," Smith replied.

"Then I'd suggest Trails North in Whitehorse." Zech said. "It's not the plushest place, but it's got bathrooms, fresh water, and lots of space."

From the engine came the sound of a throat being cleared. Zech rolled his eyes and lifted the mic back to his lips.

"I should probably warn you that last time we stopped here I had a little trouble with some locals. Just a little rough and tumble fun mind you," Zech dutifully informed the 'probably not a soldier'. "Nothing personal."

"Actually, I'm really supposed to avoid any trouble, especially the kind that involves the police," Smith came back worriedly.

"Ha, don't worry. Why would the cops come out for a friendly little scuffle between gentlemen? Besides," Zech continued a little smugly, "after last time I seriously doubt they'll give Blue Sky any trouble, and you'll be with us."

"Okay, then onto Whitehorse," Smith said sounding a little taken aback.

Zech didn't mention stopping for lunch, he always just let Sal drive while he ate, then drove after he'd fed Sal. While the big rig could and, did in emergency's, burn standard gasoline he usually ran on the massive tanks of specialize biofuel they carried to avoid the harsh chemicals the petroleum was processed with. On top of that there was a special hatch that Zech tossed bits of raw meat down for the rig to chew on. He idly noted that the computer's driving seemed to improve during these times. 

The next eight hours or so passed with times of conversation and times of silence. The CB chatter ran from bikes to cars to girls to school, dabbled in politics, sports, and weather. Zech found the boy easily able to keep up with him on pretty much all subjects. He was a little naive in some areas, and astonishingly deep in others. Sal began adding his two bits to the conversation here and there, with Zech speaking for him over the air waves. The kid had a deep mind, and as far as Zech could tell a good heart. Not bad, for a teenager from the lower forty-eight. Just a little, soft, maybe.

Zech let a slightly wolfish smile play over his lips. He did like the southerner. But until he proved otherwise the kid was going to be filed away in his brain as a sissy Cheechako, a little weak, a lot inexperienced, a little cocky, driving some fragile experimental robot rig that was doing the work for him. Zech rubbed Sal's dashboard and heard the responding purr of pleasure from the engine.

"Smithy there has a lot to learn." Zech observed. "Let say me and you give that kid and his fancy truck a proper Alaska type education on the way down, eh Bro?"

The battered truck rumbled in pleased assent.


	4. Rest

Two big rigs pulled into a truck stop on the Alcan Highway. In near perfect synchronization they rolled gracefully to a stop among the scrubby spruce forest. A reasonably flat section of gravel merged into sparse weeds, serving as the parking lot. Old timbers, half returned to the soil, lay marking the boundaries of the truck stop. If both drivers seemed to take a little extra time to talk to their rigs before getting out, there was no one else around to notice.

Two young men, neither looking quite old enough to be solely in charge of such expensive pieces of equipment jumped out of the rigs. The slightly older one, sporting a worn leather flight jacket over faded blue jeans, displayed several degrees more grace and confidence in the movement. The younger, wearing a rumpled cameo uniform, stepped forward with that awkward grace unique to young men on the verge of reaching full growth. They met up half way to the restrooms and walked on chatting happily together.

If anyone had been close enough to observe the idle trucks they might have made a few observations. The trucks appeared to be just a pair of Peterbilts; the sky blue needle-nose much older than the primary red 381. From the dings and scratches that covered the body of the sky blue truck it would appear it had seen far more action than its brother rig. They both sat immobile, indifferent to the events that transpired around them. All of these observations would have been very wrong.

As soon as the young drivers disappeared into the restrooms a flock of large ravens seemed to gather out of nowhere. One especially large and battle scarred male circled high over the trucks calling out harshly. A white scar crossed his vicious looking bill. As the seconds ticked by dozens more joined him and added their voices to his cry. There was something malevolent in the gathering; something personal in the looks the head raven was giving the sky blue rig. None of the birds seemed especially eager to get close to the sky blue rig but soon many had settled on the other truck.

With a fortitude born of endless years of warfare Optimus Prime ignored the presence of the birds. Their feathers and droppings stuck to the roof of his trailer and cab. The Autobot made a mental note to shower down in the newly installed facility Agent Fowler had arranged for them back at base. Perhaps the children could help. Arcee assured him that receiving a good scrub down was a very enjoyable experience and the children seemed eager to offer the service. He was mentally arranging his schedule around the pleasant prospect when a signal caught his attention.

Someone was performing a search for monitoring devices. The Prime was immediately on alert. The signal was low quality, human equipment no doubt, the kind used to locate wireless signals. Optimus allowed himself to relax and decided not to pursue the matter. Somewhere nearby some human was fruitlessly trying to access the internet. Were they not maintaining strict radio silence the Autobot might have obliged the seeker by providing an uplink. Over head the ravens were growing bolder, seemingly egged on by the calls of their leader. One darted down and gave a quick peck at the other rig. Optimus cast a worried glance towards the restrooms, these creatures offered him no real harm but those bills might be a problem for the humans.

A second signal rolled over the Autobot, claiming his full attention now. It was still only a human device, but it was stronger, military grade at least. There was no way it would detect his Cybertronian signals but it raised some questions. The Prime located the signal, and felt his concern level rise considerably. The searching signal was emanating from the rig at his side. Before Optimus could fully analyze the implications of the situation, a third signal activated, this one was more confusing. It was clearly not Cybertronian but it ran up and down spectrums never utilized by humans, and there was something organic, about the search pattern. Optimus was just about to summon Jack when the signal abruptly ended.

Without starting its engine the big rig known as Salcha gracefully rolled back and slid closer to the Cybertronian, coming to a stop with its needle nose about half way up his length. Optimus resolutely maintained his silence as the flock of ravens took to the skies in alarm. For a moment the other rig just sat there, so close their mirrors overlapped. Soon the corvids regained their courage for another assault. They began to land on the Autobot, calling down mockingly at the other rig from out of its reach. Almost out of its reach, they belatedly realized. Long yellow tie straps snapped out and over Optimus's trailer. The birds dove frantically out of their way, but only regrouped above the two trucks. They appeared to be making an effort to drop their deposits as frequently as possible on the rigs.

Optimus sat and watched the display in puzzled silence. Clearly there was more than met the optic to this other rig. It was no Autobot the Prime had ever seen. If it was a Decpticon either there would have been an attack by now or it would not have blown its cover to chase off a few Earth birds. The Autobot remained silent and waited.

The snapping tie straps coiled back into place on the rig. The hood tilted up just enough to admit two black tie straps. Salcha reached into his engine compartment and pulled out a piece of raw meat he'd been saving for later. He placed it carefully on his now shut hood and let the two black ties slump around the scrap in a loose circle. The calling of the corvids grew louder. Several crows and jays had joined the flock, while that had no loyalty to the scarred leader they were curious. One of the younger ravens grew bold and darted down to snatch the meat. Another seeing him uninjured followed and challenged his right to the morsel. In the ensuing fight neither saw the ties tense then snap out.

Quickly and painlessly it was over. Two limp bodies were pulled down into the engine compartment. A strange grinding, tearing sound emanated from the sky blue rig, loud enough to be heard over the outraged screaming of the birds. A black cloud of torn feathers puffed out of the front grille. Something clear and viscous dripped to the ground beneath the engine. The hood lifted again and the ties pulled out two perfectly articulated raven skeletons held together by the tendons and coated in a clear gel. The ties lifted the skeletons up and shook them at the now silent swarm of birds over head. The jays and crows immediately vacated the air space and the majority of the ravens slunk of into the surrounding forest. Only a murder remained loyal to their leader. Salcha emitted a screech that was a good impression of the ravens if a bit deeper. With one final scream the murder disappeared into the trees. Only the scarred one stayed, perched menacingly on a lamp pole, sullen and plotting.

Salcha let out a tired sigh. A yellow tie reached into his cab and pulled out a length of bailing wire. He bound one of the skeletons to his smoke stack and the other to one of Optimus's. The long yellow tie straps reached up and carefully swiped away at the thick layer of raven guano that had collected on the Autobot's trailer and cab.

"I'm not sure how much good this will do you big guy," a deep voice murmured softly. "Frack, I hope Smith doesn't get in trouble for this mess. If you really are some top secret government project they won't be pleased to get their new toy back all filthy. He's a good kid, that one. Not as good as my Zechariah, mind you, but then no one else is. There, that's the best I can do right now." The rig pulled one side mirror off and lifted to up to get a good look at top of the Autobot. "Well, you're a mess, but being an emotionless hunk of silicon and steel I guess you don't care too much." Sal pulled back to his previous position. The entire incident had taken maybe five minutes.

"Here I am talking to an inanimate object again," sighed the big rig. "I'm sure glad we met up with Smith. I wonder what his real name is. I know it's supposed to be Zech's first solo adventure and everything but I really don't like him being alone. I don't like being left alone without anyone to talk to. Humans always make the best friends, but it's lonely when they leave you alone. Why the creator made a primarily social species that needed periods of isolation is beyond me." The rig fell silent for a moment.

Optimus prime was still sitting quietly. It was looking more and more as if this was no Cybertronian. The Autobot was gently reaching out with his senses in search of spark energy, and coming up with nothing. Either a Decpticon or an Autobot, or an unaligned for that matter, would have easily recognized the faction badge on his trailer. Exactly what this creature was; was still a mystery. There were no other sentient beings native to earth. Optimus paused in his train of thought, none that the humans had told them of, he amended. For a few seconds he searched his memory banks. When exactly had the humans told them they were the only sentient beings on the planet?

"I need to find Zech a mate!" Sal suddenly declared, surprising the Autobot leader out of his train of thought. "That would solve everything. She could come with us on drives and keep us company. Make sure he eats right. When they had a baby we could bring it along too. The right girl makes everything better. Hmmm," the rig rumbled happily at the thought, shaking the corvid skeleton atop his smokestack. "Now who do we know with a daughter of the right age… Zech will need someone with a deep soul…"

The sky blue rig drifted off into a low rumble as he happily plotted the future for his partner.

This was definitely not a Decpticon, Optimus decided with amusement. The incident that had left the organic remains hanging from his smoke stack was, odd, to say the least, but it did appear to be a form of self defense.

A small nagging pain distracted the Autobot. He summoned his HUD and nearly started in surprise. Where the ravens had perched on him were numerous tiny scratches. The deepest of which had not even seeped energon, but for an organic life form to be able to do even that much damage without the aid of a weapon was shocking. As the Prime rerouted his healing nanobots to the injuries he pondered the situation. There was far more going on here than met the optics.


	5. Attack

"Sal!" Zech snarled in frustration. "Are you trying to get me arrested? Again?" 

The young man stared in horror at the raven skeleton hanging from the sky blue big rig's smoke stack. Then he saw its twin on the other rig. A small hiss of air escaped the human as he leapt up the side of the semi and snatched the skeleton off the red and cobalt blue rig.

"Or are you just trying to start an international incident?" the young man continued as he removed the remains from Salcha's exhaust pipe. "Really? A dead _Raven_ on a US G-rig? Do you have something against Smith? Is that it?"

"No!" growled the truck. "I was helping him. It was self defense. They were attacking us. Look at this poor truck." Sal waved a tie to indicate the guano smeared Optimus Prime. 

"I couldn't let that egg sucking, scar-faced Aankaawu Yeil hurt our new friend!I mean it's one thing if the idiot wants to mess around with me. I can take it. But who knows what damage the murder might have done to the sensitive," Sal abruptly cut off his diatribe as another young man in uniform came out of the restrooms.

Zech hurriedly threw both skeletons under Slacha's tires.

"Something wrong?" Smith asked when he saw the flustered look on Zech's face.

"Yeah, your rig got bombed while we were in the bathroom," Zech waved at the truck, and was shocked by the look of panic that spread across Jack's face.

"Op…Red Warrior was attacked?" Jack demanded. 

He jumped up on the running board frantically looking for the damage; wondering how he could have missed a Decpticon attack. Something white and gooey smooshed under his hand, but he was too worried to notice. He felt a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Easy there Smith," Zech said soothingly, "bombing of the organic kind."   
_'Right,'_ the trucker reminded himself, _'bad idea to use violent figures of speech around military types. I should know that.'_

The other young man relaxed visibly as the reality sunk in. He looked back at the twitching face of his new friend, and burst out laughing.

"Well, I think Red Warrior can take a little bombing of that sort," Smith finally said. "I guess we should be getting to bed now though."

Zech saw that the younger man was eager to get into his rig and smiled. The "soldier" no doubt had a host of sensitive equipment to check.

"Hey get settled down and everything, but if you want a taste of some of the best homemade trucking food this side of the North Pole come over to Sal and we'll have dinner together," he invited.

Smith nodded and jumped into the cab. Zech wasn't too surprised when he noticed that the previously clear windows were now opaque. A specialty job indeed.

"Optimus! What happened?" Jack asked as soon as the door swung shut behind him.

"It would appear," the Autobot said quietly, "that we are traveling in convoy with not one but two sentient beings."

The implications crystallized immediately in Jack's mind, pushing out the thought of birds. His eyes narrowed.

"Decpticon or Autobot?" he asked.

"I suspect that Salcha is not of Cybertronian origin," Optimus replied. 

He saw the look of confusion on Jack's face and gave a brief but detailed explanation of what he had seen and otherwise sensed.

"So this Salcha is a living truck, but not Cybertronian, probably not even entirely mechanical, and doesn't seem to be aware that you are anything more than a specialized semi," Jack said finally tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Indeed," the Prime responded thoughtfully. "Jack?"

"Yes Optimus?" Jack answered absently. 

"Do you know of any sentient species on Earth other than humans?" Optimus asked. 

"No," Jack shook his head emphatically, "we're it. Whatever that thing is it had to come from off planet."

"You are certain?" the Autobot leader pressed.

Jack nodded.

"Why do you keep asking?" Jack inquired. 

"From the way that creature speaks, from the way it interacts with its friend Zech, I would guess that it was native to this world. It is hard to explain exactly, but I have seen many worlds and peoples on them both native and foreign," Optimus explained. "Over time I have developed the ability to tell the difference. That being, whatever it may be, belongs on this planet."

Jack frowned and shook his head again, but his fingers were tapping oddly against Prime's steering wheel.

"Jack," The Prime continued, "I have searched my memories several times. I made little note of it before, but at no point in our interactions with the leaders of this planet was it ever expressly stated that you were the only sentient beings on the planet. Now it could be that this is simply an assumption that is universal and therefore unquestioned among your people, but I would like you to do some investigating for me."

"Investigating?" Jack asked.

"Yes. Accept the invitation Mr. Franklin offered." Optimus instructed him. "See if you can glean more information from him." 

Jack readily agreed but Optimus could see hesitation in his eyes. Not fear, Optimus was pleased to see, but unwillingness to deceive a fellow being.

"Tell no further untruths and ask no pointed questions," offered the old warrior helpfully, "simply guide the conversation along the right paths and listen to what the human says." 

He saw the boy relax at the instructions. Jack turned and opened the cooler that held his food.

"What are you searching for Jack?" Optimus asked in curiosity. "I believe the point of Mr. Franklin's invitation was for you to consume his food."

"Tradition requires I bring a small gift," Jack explained, "Now where was it? There." 

The human produced a bag of his mother's homemade soy jerky. He hesitated. Jack was pretty sure Zech already considered him some sort of wimp from the south. This just might push him solidly into sissy territory. He shook his head. Mom had made it; he was going to show it off regardless of what the trucker might think.

Jack stepped out of the comforting warmth of Optimus's cab and into the pale Arctic light. Soft orange light glowed out of Salcha's cab. Jack squared his shoulder and walked firmly over to the battered blue Peterbilt. There was nothing to be afraid of; after all, he had Optimus Prime in his corner. He reached out to knock on the door of the cab.


	6. Food, Friendship, and a Little Freaky

To Jack's surprise the door of the big rig sprang open at his touch. Which wouldn't have been so odd, except Zech was on the far side of the cab. It had never occurred to Jack to doubt Optimus, but it was still startling to witness the evidence for himself. Zech glanced up from a clipboard he had been hunched over and shot Jack a grin that seemed to light up the cab.

 

"I knew you couldn't resist Ma's trucken food Smith. No man can," the black haired youth hailed him cheerfully. "Now come on in and have a seat while I finish filling out the log."

 

Jack pulled himself up into the cab. The inside of the 281 was incredibly cluttered at first glance. Compared to Optimus's pristine interior Sal's looked like a large family of rats had climbed in and made a nest. Two bunks took up a good portion of the sleeper cab along with four large tanks marked 'Biofuel'. One bunk was reasonably clear but the other was crammed with boxes. The cab held a mini fridge and a toaster oven that was filling the space with a delicious smell. Paper covered nearly every available surface; pictures of hunters standing over moose and bears, newspaper clippings, printouts of jokes, and old shopping lists were securely taped to the walls. There appeared to be only three clean spots in the cab; the dash and the two gleaming, industrial strength fire extinguishers.

 

Zech was leaning over his paperwork, tongue tip protruding out one side of his mouth, face forming an intense frown as he worked. This left Jack free to study the controlled chaos of the cab. After a few moments Jack discovered a pattern. There was close to nothing loose in the cab. Every box and container was tightly secured. The pathways on the floor were clear and, despite the rig's age, there wasn't a speck of rust to be seen. Papers and maps were stored in clear, easy to reach folders on the wall. Everything had been organized for maximum safety and comfort. Finally the trucker let out a sigh of relief and put the papers away in their folders.

 

"So? Are you ready for a culinary treat?" he asked his guest eagerly.

 

Jack nodded, and couldn't help returning the infectious grin. He felt another little stab of guilt at deceiving the other young man, but it was necessary, for Zech's safety as much as anything else. Jack's mind was also buzzing with anticipation now. He had been assigned a mission by Optimus Prime. Not just a safe chore that needed to be done, but a recon mission. He would focus on that as soon as his mouth stopped watering.

 

_Ding._

 

His attention was drawn to the toaster oven secured to the wall. Zech was pulling out a casserole dish filled with something that smelled very good. The trucker served up half the mass onto a paper plate and handed it to Jack with a flourish.

 

"Here you go. A heaping helping of Great Grandma Franklin's venison and goat cheese lasagna," Zech announced.

 

Jack took a bite and declared it delicious. It was. Nothing like the meals his mom prepared but delicious none the less. The young men set to eating with a will. Something rattled from the engine and Jack glanced that way curiously. Zech smacked the dash lightly and grinned.

 

"Old rigs," he shrugged his shoulders, "noisy but reliable."

 

Jack nodded and happened to glance at the clock on the dash. He started guiltily when he saw how much time had gone by. He needed to get Zech talking about Salcha. Jack felt a smile creep across his face as he realized that the idea of sitting inside a living creature no longer felt strange to him. He scanned the cab for possible topics of conversation and his eyes fell on the fire extinguishers. As good a place to start as any.

 

"Say Zech? What's with those big extinguishers? I don't think I've ever even seen one like that," Jack pointed with his fork at a mustard yellow canister. The other was a more standard red but both were far larger than the other setups he'd seen in semis. An intense look passed over the trucker's face and Jack wondered if he'd offended him.

 

"They're industrial size and strength," Zech explained finally. 

 

Jack could sense the roiling emotions just below the surface. The trucker clearly wasn't good at hiding things. That would make this easier, Jack winced guiltily at the thought. But Zech plowed eagerly on, absentmindedly reaching up to touch the dash. This was something he enjoyed talking about.

 

"The red one's a Hallon 1211, rated for wood, electrical, or gas fires." He said with a gesture at it. "The yellow one is a Class D dry powder. It can stop solid steel from burning. We have a couple of extra Hallons in the drawers for backups."

 

"That's more anti-fire power than most rigs carry," Jack pointed out.

 

Zech nodded and seemed to be seizing Jack up.

 

"You want to hear the story?" he finally asked.

 

When the younger human nodded the trucker sat back and launched into the tale.

 

"It was my second or third long haul with my dad in Sal here, I was maybe seven. We were at a truck stop in Oregon, just south of Mt. St. Hillary. Our insurance company had sent us this little doohickey as a gift, a crystal that hung in the windshield, filled the cabin with scattered light. My dad's partner at the time liked it and kept it up a lot. Well it was one of those rare spring days when the sun is out in full force in the Pacific Northwest. The light caught the crystal just right and it started same papers on fire while Dad was in the store. I was napping in the bunk. Dad's partner woke me up and got me out of the cab and then fought the fire by himself. But all we had then was this little regulation thing. Before the other truckers came to help Dad's partner was burned bad. And well, now we keep these babies handy at all times," Zech finished his story.

 

"Why didn't the partner just let Sal burn?" Jack asked, "Why risk his life for just a truck?"

 

He saw the look that passed over Zech's face, a look he knew too well. The trucker couldn't tell him the truth, didn't want to lie, and was working up something, creative, while he lightly stroked the seat he was lounging on.

 

"It wasn't just the truck, we had an important load that day," he finally said, "Truckers honor, had to get the cargo to its rightful owner."

 

Jack nodded as he ate the last bite of lasagna. The old saying went; the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Zech was giving him the truth and nothing but the truth. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sal must be the nameless mystery partner. It had been Salcha fighting for his life that day.

 

"So what happened to your dad's partner?" Jack asked. 

 

"Oh, he healed up and continued trucking with my dad until he retired" Zech replied with a shrug. 

 

A tug at his pants leg drew Jacks attention. He leapt into the air with a shout, banging his head against the ceiling, as something long and spindly disappeared under the seat.

 

"Gha! Salcha! Uh, has a mouse problem. Thought we got em all before we took off," Zech hurriedly said, giving the dash a quick thump.

 

Jack nodded with a forced smile and gingerly lowered himself back into the seat. That was no mouse tail, that was a tentacle, and it had been climbing up his leg. He reminded himself repeatedly that there was one of the greatest warriors in the galaxy watching over him from under six feet away. The young man felt the packet of jerky crinkle in his pocket. He remembered Optimus's description of Sal's appetite and wondered if that was what the strange semi had been after. He took out the bag and presented it to Zech who accepted a taste rather unenthusiastically. But his face brightened at the first taste.

 

"Soy jerky huh?" Zech said with hint of surprise in his voice. "It's good! Who makes it?"

 

"My mom," Jack said proudly.

 

Ma Franklin wasn't the only matriarch around with domestic skills.

 

The conversation drifted from there. Jack kept it focused on the sky blue semi. It was surprisingly easy. Zech loved to talk about his rig. He was careful to speak so that anyone who didn't know would assume it was just a truck. Probably from long years of practice he was good at it. Maybe it was because Jack had gotten so used to talking about Arcee in the same way, but Jack was able to read between the lines. Sal was a member of the Franklin family. He had been with them for years, and was a close friend of Zech's especially.

 

Finally the topic of conversation drifted in another useful direction. Zech told a story of one of his cousins being abducted by some mysterious figures called tundra gnomes. Jack laughed at the punch line but his mind was working quickly.

 

"But you don't really believe all that, right?" he asked when the trucker had ended the story.

 

"Believe what?" Zech asked as he pulled out a bag of giant homemade cookies from the fridge.

 

"That there are other beings here on Earth. I mean space aliens are one thing, but to think we've been living right along with other sentient species and never noticed…" Jack trailed off.

 

Zech had leaned forward in the driver's seat and was giving him a searching look. For a fleeting moment there was something in that grave look that reminded the boy of Optimus Prime. It was a hint of something that was much, much older than it seemed. 

 

"Smith," Zech finally began, rolling his name softly over his teeth. "I know it's different down in the more civilized places. You learn things in school, from books, and off the computers. That's all good as far as it goes, but those sources are limited to, let's call it hard science. The kind of thing that is easy to prove with the tools we have now, and science is still very much in its infancy. It was only, what? Fifty, sixty years ago we figured out DNA? Forty since we set foot off this one rock in space? Four generations ago that stuff was considered crazy dreams, not hard science. Out here," the trucker gestured around them, "We learn from what is all around us; the sky, the sea, the wind. You learn to listen in the silence. You hear things, see thing that never make it into the books. Maybe it's because they're not really there. Maybe cuz it's our science that's not there yet." 

 

Zech fell silent and stared off into the middle distance. Jack followed his gaze. A massive raven sat dark and foreboding on a lamp pole. The boy recalled how Optimus had described the birds' behavior earlier, and a shiver ran down his spine.

 

"Cookie?" Zech offered with a bright smile.

 

Jack turned his attention back to Zech, who was holding out the bag of saucer sized cookies. Gone was the sage with more wisdom than his years could account for, replaced by a teenager eager to share something good with a friend. The cookies were good though. Jack was about to down his fourth when Optimus's voice came quietly over his blue tooth.

 

"I believe we have gathered sufficient information for tonight." He said. "Return to my cab and get some sleep Jack. We have a long drive tomorrow."

 

Jack stretched and thanked Zech for the meal.

 

"Hey, you're welcome." Zech replied. "Don't forget your…empty bag?" 

The trucker frowned at the now very empty bag of soy jerky. Jack was fairly certain he had seen the last piece disappear down an air vent held tightly in a leathery black tentacle.

 

"Huh, I'm sorry," the trucker said embarrassed, "ate it all up and didn't leave you any." 

Jack had seen Zech eat maybe five pieces, and noticed that there was no pronoun in that sentence to indicate who had done the eating up. He assured his new friend that it was fine; he had more where that came from, and got out of the cab as fast as dignity would allow. He strolled casually over to Optimus and the door opened at his touch. Jack felt relief roll over him with the warm air out of the red and blue semi's cab. He wasn't sure when he'd started noticing that each Autobot had a distinct scent. Optimus smelled of leather and ink, comfort and safety. Jack slid down into the driver's seat and let out a sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.

 

"What did you glean from the conversation?" The Prime asked him after a moment.

 

Jack looked at the flickering dash display in surprise.

 

"You were listening in the entire time, right?" the human asked in confusion.

 

"Yes," Optimus replied slowly. "But I sensed that there was much of the conversation that I failed to understand due to cultural ignorance. I would appreciate your impressions on the matter."

 

Jack nodded and launched into a play-by-play of the conversation. Optimus asked a few questions but for the most par let the human talk uninterrupted. By the time he wound down Jack was yawning and nodding off.

 

"Thank you Jackson," Optimus finally said. "This has been most informative. You have done well." 

With a soft bump a bunk folded down from the rear wall of the sleeper cab.

 

"Rest now." Optimus rumbled into the cool air. 

 

Jack pulled off his boots and crawled onto the bunk. The mattress was warm to the touch and molded itself to his body. Optimus carefully adjusted the temperature to ensure the boy's comfort and turned on some quiet music that Jack had mentioned he enjoyed.

 

"Ah, no thanks," came a sleepy voice, "no music tonight."

 

The Prime turned off the radio immediately, but wondered why the human was forgoing that part of the nightly ritual, from the rate of his heartbeat the boy was still several minutes from sleep. Jack snuggled down deeper into the mattress. In the silence of the nearly deserted truck stop, with the radio off, and his own thoughts quieting down for the night he could hear a steady thrumming coming from somewhere deep inside the rig. Strong and steady, slow and soothing it filled his mind as he drifted off.

 

Six feet away, in Blue Sky's cab a mosquito buzzed through some unseen crack in the aluminum skin, like lightening a slim strand snapped out and grabbed the parasite. No blood would be lost form this human tonight. 

"Sleep tight brother," a deep voice whispered as Zech curled up in his down sleeping bag.

A sturdy black tentacle reached out of the shadows in Salcha's cab to gently stroke a loose hair out of the young man's face.

 

In the darkness Aankaawu Yeil clicked his bill and hissed in frustration. He could sense that there was a warrior watching over the sleepers tonight. It frustrated him that he couldn't see him. But it was no matter. The human and its loathsome companion stopped here often. He would wait, scavengers were very good at waiting, and his murder would sing the death song of their enemy.


	7. Bleeding Out

Jack woke to a gentle touch on his shoulder. A seat belt clasp was nudging him.

 

"Ah, good you are awake Smith, we roll out in half an hour," Optimus said.

 

Jack nodded and let out a cavernous yawn. Last night's excitement had left him with only a few hours of sleep. He tied his boots back on and jumped out of the cab. Zech was already up and scooting around Salcha; pulling straps, tightening brake lines, and generally checking the tractor trailer over. He seemed completely absorbed in the task.

 

Jack walked on to the restrooms thinking hard. Sal wasn't a con or a bot. That much was pretty clear, but what was he? Optimus's question ran around in his mind. Were humans the only sentient beings on Earth? The old stories began to bubble up in his memory; the little folk, haunting, animals that spoke like men. Hadn't he heard stories about vehicles that behaved as if they were haunted? Sometime back during the First World War. When he came out his mind was still mulling over the issue. There were countless legends of others, now that he thought about it; stories that faded back into the darkness of the past.

 

"Smithy!" Zech called out. He jogged over, the morning light gleaming off the old leather of his flight jacket.

 

"Zech," Jack answered cheerfully, "sleep well?"

 

"Yep!" Zech replied, stretching his long arms over his head. "Want some joe? Made an extra big pot this morning."

 

Jack was about to eagerly agree, until he realized Zech was dropping pronouns again. Who exactly, had made that coffee? An image of a slinky black tentacle reaching out of a travel mug made the boy grimace.

 

"Ah, thanks but I'm not really a coffee drinker." Jack demurred. 

 

"Must be nice," commented Zech staring admiringly at Optimus's grille.

 

"What must be?" Jack asked curiously.

 

"Not having to do a three hundred point inspection every morning," Zech said a little louder than was strictly necessary, "Driving a rig with new parts. One that don't start dropping bits and pieces when the highway gets bumpy, one who's valves all link up without leaking; that sort of thing."

 

"Well, I guess," Jack said, more than a little confused, "But couldn't you just replace the old parts on your rig?"

 

"Oh yeah," Zech said with a shrug. "I've been wanting to get Sal here into a mechanic for a proper overhaul for years. But the partner who owns half-share in him won't hear of it. Says the body has character, only allows enough repairs to keep him road safe."

 

"Well I guess you have to put up with things like that in a partnership," Jack said.

 

The trucker nodded and climbed into Salcha's cab, whistling an old sea shanty. Jack hopped up into Optimus's cab and the four of them rolled out.

 

Unnoticed to either pair a young raven fluttered up to a larger one perched on a gnarled snag. The smaller bird presented its leader with a thin section of black tubing. Aankaawu Yeil clucked in pleasure. The injury would be small, inconsequential to the giant the tube had been plucked from, but it would bleed. They had ways of being sure of that. Like wolves in winter the enemies would come, drawn by the scent of the creature's life dripping out onto the pavement.

 

The second day together went much like the first. The two semis rolled down the road easily, their occupants chatting eagerly over the CB. Salcha was adding more and more to the conversation as he warmed to the human called Smith. Zech eagerly speaking for him. Sal was usually friendly toward most humans, but he rarely made real friends outside of the immediate Franklin family. The protocols for 'properly introducing' him to outsiders were strict, but young Smith there had already passed several of the requirements. Sure he'd seemed a bit oblivious the night before; either blatantly ignoring or remaining completely ignorant of Salcha's attempts to get his attention. But that might simply be military training. Even if he wasn't active duty the kid obviously had that 'report everything up the chain of command' kind of attitude. Maybe his father was military. 

 

At Salcha's suggestion they stopped for a quick lunch at a little roadside diner. The proprietor, a massive Scotsman with thick grey hair, knew Zech well and shared some stories that Jack at least found quite entertaining. After the meal the young trucker cornered Jack between Salcha and Optimus and got him in a friendly choke hold for just long enough to explain in cheerful detail several trucker traditions regarding people who were stupid enough to repeat entertaining stories about older, wiser, and stronger companions. The two young men separated laughing and got back on the road.

 

"Hey Zech?" Salcha said after an uncharacteristically long period of silence.

 

"Yeah?" Zech replied.

 

"Do you notice anything funny about Red Warrior?" the semi asked with a hint of worry in his tone. 

 

"Um," Zech peeled his eyes away from the drifting clouds to glance at the vents, "haven't we already gone over this; super computer, government secret, super robot truck?"

 

"No," Sal sounded a little offended, "I mean since this morning, his driving style has changed."

 

Zech stiffened. It might just have been a slip of the tongue, but Zech had just called the truck 'him'. The semi now sounded concerned for 'his' welfare. _This is an odd development_ , the trucker mused stroking the seat.

 

"I have noticed two distinct styles," Zech finally said, "but I just figured that the robo-rig switches between manual and automatic to let the kid drive once in awhile."

 

"No, no, I noticed that too," Sal said dismissively, "the kid is completely inexperienced but has the instinct. No, this is Red Warrior driving now, but I think there's something wrong."

 

"Wrong?" Zech frowned.

 

He trusted his partner's senses and instincts. He hadn't noticed anything wrong with the truck following them but if Salcha said so, it was probably so. 

"If Smith is in danger from some electronic glitch in the programming we need to warn him." Zech said aloud. 

 

"Well yeah, we need to warn Smithy there that his partner is having trouble, but our new friend's not a robot," Sal said with a very forced tone of nonchalance, "he's as alive as I am."

 

Jack glanced up from his homework as Blue Sky suddenly swerved into the, thankfully empty, opposing lane and hurriedly righted himself. Jack reached over and touched the blue section of Optimus's dash.

 

"Blue Sky, Red Warrior." He called out. "Is something wrong?"

 

"Red Warrior, Blue Sky," Came the somewhat flustered reply. "Ah, um, yeah, I just heard the oddest thing come from the engine compartment. Look, I need to pull off the road next chance I get."

 

"Roger that Blue Sky, we're right here if you need assistance," Jack said. 

He jumped guiltily, realizing he'd forgotten something. 

"Right Optimus?" Jack asked quickly. 

"Thanks Red Warrior." Zech's voice came back before Optimus replied. "There's a good stopping place just a few miles ahead."

Still silence filled the cab with the flickering lights. 

"Optimus?" Jack asked again.

Still nothing. 

"Optimus Prime!" Jack called out loudly, unknowingly switching to a very good impression of his mother's _now_ voice.

 

"Jack?" the tone, when it finally came, seemed different somehow, distracted.

"Optimus are you okay?" Jack asked, his heart rate suddenly spiking. 

For the moment Blue Sky's problems were forgotten. 

 

"Yes I am well," the Prime answered slowly, "Why do you ask?"

 

"You didn't answer me there for a minute," Jack said, as his breathing slowed down. "Is it okay for us to stop and help Blue Sky? They're having trouble."

 

"Of course," Optimus replied. 

Then fell silent. Jack stared worriedly at the lights on the dash as he tapped his notebook with his pencil. Something was wrong. The flickering lights had changed their pattern, they seemed almost urgent now, and he couldn't be sure but it looked like there were a few red ones in the mix than hadn't been there previously. Jack put his homework in his backpack and focused on the Prime. The wheel was definitely oscillating more often now, even though they were on a straight stretch.

 

"Optimus, are you sure you're okay?" He pressed. 

"Yes Jackson," Optimus replied. "I am perfectly well." 

There was irritation in the Autobot's voice now. Jack suddenly gripped the steering wheel. Optimus never lost his temper over little stuff, something was wrong. He had to think quickly. 

 

"Hey, uh can I drive again?" the human asked.

 

"Do not you have homework to do?" Optimus asked. 

 

"Well sure," Jack answered. "I can do homework anytime though. How often do I get to learn to drive a big rig from a master?"

 

"Very well," Optimus said in a tone of tired resignation. 

 

Jack felt the controls change under his hands. The by now familiar adrenaline rush came as he took control of the massive rig. Ever the teacher, Optimus had been letting him drive on stretches of the trip, gradually increasing the difficulty and length of time. Jack had driven well over half the day today. The last stretch the Prime had actually been twitching the wheel occasionally and lighting up random sections of his dash trying to catch Jack off guard. Jack sent up a silent prayer that this was only some new test. Ahead Blue Sky pulled onto a gravel turnoff.

 

Jack carefully turned the wheel to follow. He winced at the bump going from asphalt to gravel and braked a little too late ending up too close to Blue Sky's aft. He saw Zech get out and begin crawling over the rig. The boy glanced nervously at the ominously silent dash.

 

"Optimus, can I run a manual diagnostic on your systems?" Jack asked suddenly.

 

"Why?" the Primes voice was slow.

 

"Ah, well," Jack's mind raced and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Ratchet has been teaching me how, so I can help Arcee when she's hurt and I'd really like to practice, and now's a good a time as any, because Zech is stopped and checking out Sal, and it'd look a little funny if I did noth..."

 

"Very well Jack," Optimus finally said.

 

Jack leaned over the dash and began pulling up the diagnostics subroutine. The Prime's systems were slightly different than Arcee's and it threw the already flustered human for a moment. He scanned the options. All of the thorough diagnostics took time, too much time, Jack thought when he glanced out at the trucker moving swiftly over his rig. He badly wanted to call Ratchet, but Optimus had been strict about the radio silence.

 

"Think Jack," he muttered. 

 

What would cause a sudden loss of motor skills, irritably, and lack of concentration? _Dehydration or blood loss_. Chirped his mother's voice from somewhere in the back of his mind. But Cybertronians don't have blood or water in their systems, Jack reasoned.

 

"Energon," he whispered, hoping he was wrong. 

He pulled up the screen that displayed levels of the Autobot's life's blood. The human felt his stomach clench.

 

"Optimus, something is very wrong with you," he said firmly. "Look at your energon levels, you're down by at least a quarter, and you're showing the symptoms."

 

Jack waited for the punch line, for Optimus to perk up and compliment him for passing the test, but there was silence for a moment.

 

"Yes Jack," Optimus finally said, as if forming the words took a great effort. "Something is wrong. My internal diagnostics still insist I am well. Yet I must have a leak somewhere…" 

Optimus's voice suddenly shifted to a low almost musical rhythm. Jack stiffened as he recognized what had happened. He frantically slapped the steering wheel. 

 

"Hey, English, English please." He yelped. 

"My apologies Prowl…Jackson." Optimus went on. 

"Look," Jack said fear gripping his as his mentor seemed to slip further away. How much energon could the Autobot loose? "Do you have any spare energon on you?"

 

A diagram of the cab appeared on the dash. Jack jumped back to the cargo hold and pulled out a small cube of energon and an emergency syringe. With steady hands and a pounding heart he drew out the vial full of the precious liquid. He turned to get out of the truck and slammed face first into the door, almost dropping the syringe. Rubbing his throbbing nose, it occurred to the boy that he had never actually had to open the rig's door himself. He grabbed the latch and slid out. The hood lifted easily at his touch and he found a nearly invisible seam tucked in a corner Jack tapped at it frantically.

 

"Common Optimus," he hissed between gritted teeth, "open up. I'm not Ratchet. I can't do this by myself."

 

There was a slight click and the panel flipped up. Jack carefully set the tip of the syringe in the valve and began squeezing the dispenser. Nothing happened. Jack squeezed harder a small drop of energon formed on the tip of the syringe, then pulled back in as his grip weakened. Jack fought back tears of frustration and looked around for something to lever the trigger with, something that was strong enough to give him the torque he needed but wouldn't break the vial and spill the precious contents. His eyes fell on a pair of cowboy boots.

"Need help Cheechako?" Zech asked with a compassionate grin.

 

"No, he's fine. It's just an….oil leak…" Jack trailed off seeing the trucker's skeptical gaze fall on the syringe in his hand.

 

"Special oil," Jack said shoving the item in question behind his back and putting out a hand to keep Zech from getting any closer. 

The trucker flashed a warm grin at the younger man and held out his hand as well so that their palms were pressed flat together. Jack felt the roughness of the trucker's palm, saw the size difference. Zech's hands were easily three times as large as his own. Jack got the message. He looked down at the unresponsive Autobot, and handed the syringe over.

 

"It goes in here," he guided the syringe carefully into the valve and Zech pressed down on the syringe. Even with both of them throwing their strength into the task it was slow work. But finally the last drop of energon flowed into the mighty engine. Jack caught Zech looking curiously at the Autobot's insides. He quickly closed the hood and was about to jump back in the cab to check the display when the trucker laid a hand on his arm.

 

"Hey," Zech said, looking intently into Jack's eyes. "I may not know too much about your fancy G-rig, but shouldn't you be checking for where this "special" oil leaked out from?"

 

Jack stopped and nodded. He looked over the gleaming red and blue body before him and felt a surge of helplessness. Optimus's diagnostics weren't working, that was what had caused this in the first place. The diagram he had seen hadn't shown a leak anywhere. Where on this massive rig did he even start to look? He reached for his phone to call Ratchet. Radio silence or not they needed help now.

 

"No signal," Zech said shaking his head, "Dead zone here, unless your phone is as special as that oil."

 

Jack checked anyway, but no bars. He had no idea how to manually work Optimus's com unit. He took a deep calming breath, breathed in through his nose and out like his mom had taught him. At the smell of energon snapped his eyes open. Cube energon was odorless. The only way he could smell it was if it was leaking out of an injury. Jack jumped off the running board and began following the scent. It was difficult out in the open, but he finally zeroed in on a spot just under the passenger side door. He was scanning Optimus's undercarriage flat on his back when Zech joined him. 

 

"There." Zech suddenly said, his voice hard.

 

"Where?" Jack asked frantically. 

 

Zech stretched out and his fingers touched two points about eight inches apart. Jack saw now. It looked like a tube had been cut away with something razor sharp. Jack felt his stomach lurch with anger. Cons or M.E.C.H. it really didn't matter, but someone had deliberately hurt Optimus Prime. A dozen dangers were competing for Jacks attention when Zech spoke again.

 

"This happened back at Trails North." He said. "Look how dry and dusty the lagging end is."

 

Jack's Bluetooth chirped and his heart gave a leap of sheer relief.

 

"I need to go check the display," he said as he scrambled to answer the Autobot's call.

 

As soon as the kid was gone Zech spat on his thumb and began vigorously rubbing at a spot on Red Warrior's undercarriage right next to the cut line. He hadn't shown the sigil etched in the oil and dust there to the Cheechako. It would have required too much explaining. When it was finally rubbed out he laid his hand flat against the warm metal. He shouldn't have been surprised, not after everything Sal had said. He closed his eyes and focused. He could feel the poison seeping through the rig. The human took a deep breath and rested both hands flat against the undercarriage, a palm over each end of the injury. For the briefest of moments his eyes glowed red and a surge of energy flowed through the living truck. For the truck was indeed alive, not as Salcha was, but fully alive down to the last scrap of steel. Sensing that he had succeeded the human quickly rolled out from under the cab and trotted to the comforting mass that was his oldest friend.

 

"Were you able to help them?" Salcha asked eagerly.

 

"Yes," Zech was staring morosely at Red Warrior now. Smith was having an intense conversation with his rig.

 

"You felt his life force didn't you?" Salcha pressed. "What is he? A badly injured human soldier they gave a truck body? A detached elemental that wanted to be closer to a human lover? What?"

 

Zech heard the eagerness in Sal's voice and his stomach tightened. His friend couldn't be allowed to know the truth. Which should be easy, he didn't _know_ the truth, just suspected. The trucker recalled the feel of Red Warrior's life force, _okay, strongly suspected_.

 

"I don't know, but we need to respect their privacy," he finally said leaning forward to scan the sky.

 

"Sal, hush!" Zech jumped out of the rig and moved a few paces off, closing his eyes and drinking in his surroundings.

 

Salcha let out an offended snort, but listened to his friend carefully.

 

"We know who did it, and that sabotage was meant for us," Zech muttered his eyes still closed. "They got the wrong truck because they're not too sensitive. That injury wouldn't have disabled you, they know that, they must have been trying to bring the hunters down on us; leave a scent trail for an enemy or enemies to follow. But we haven't been leaving a trail Red Warrior has."

 

Salcha felt a surge fury well up in him as he came to the conclusion Zech had already arrived at.

 

"Red Warrior's enemies are approaching," he growled softly, "and it's our fault they can find him."

 

Zech's eyes glowed bright silver through his closed eyelids.

 

"And they're coming fast," he said. "Two from the north; driving. Following a trail of leaked life's blood."


	8. Repairs

A sleek red sports car pulled up to a little diner off Canada Highway 16. It rolled to a stop directly over a blue stain on the gravel. A rainbow of light played over the spill. In the car a display showed a quick series of graphs.

 

"Hmm, Breakdown?" Knockout commed. 

 

"Yeah?" the blue SUV's voice cam over the radio.

 

"It definitely looks like Optimus is traveling with at least one of his human pets." Knockout informed him. 

 

"How do you figure that?" Breakdown asked. 

 

"They were stopped for at least an hour at a human refueling station." Knockout informed him. "Odd."

 

"What is it?" Breakdown asked.

 

"It looks like there were two big rigs parked here." Knockout said. "The same as we found at the way station and from the security cameras at the border crossing. It looks as if Optimus isn't traveling alone."

 

At the other end of the signal Breakdown was thinking too, another Autobot of Optimus's size and strength. That meant a decent chance of getting scraped in a straight fight. The blue Deception gave a mental shrug. They could always call in air support.

 

"I wonder who it is. Ultra Magnus maybe?" Knockout mused as he pulled away from the diner. 

The con didn't notice the large human come out to glare suspiciously in his direction.

O O O

In the weakening roadside light Jack leapt back into the cab and hovered over at the dash. The lights had stabilized to something approaching their normal rhythm.

 

"Jack, were you able to locate the leak?" Optimus asked. 

 

His voice was still a bit weak but he sounded far more firm. 

 

Jack slumped back into the seat in relief. He described the nature and location of the injury as best he could.

 

"I see, my internal diagnostics still maintain that I have no, AH!" Optimus let out a cry of surprise as a wave of soft blue light shone from his screens.

 

The human felt it too; a pulse of energy strong and stinging. It started at his feet and ran up his body like water; not electricity, not energon, power. When it passed the world cleared into a focus sharper than he had ever known. Beneath them Zech rolled out from under the cab and troted back over the Sal. For a flickering moment he sensed/saw/scented Salcha in a new light; alive and strong.

 

"Jackson!" Optimus's voice was strong and firm, "Are you well?"

 

"Yes," the human responded absently, "Yes I am."

Now his attention was fully on the Autobot leader. He could feel the energon flowing through the massive truck, the glow of his spark chamber burned like a beacon. Jack could feel the lingering weakness from the injury and the returning strength from the infusion of energon. It was as if a sense he'd never known he had was suddenly sharpened and brought into focus.

 

"You're feeling better now Optimus?" he asked, even though he knew the answer already. 

He would have liked to just sit there reveling in the beauty of the life force flowing all around him, but the Prime spoke.

 

"We need to roll out now," the Autobot said urgently.

 

"But you're still leaking;" Jack said surprised. "Don't you need to fix that first? And what about your diagnostic subroutines?"

 

"My CPU is clear now." Optimus informed him. "I can observe the exact extent of the damage and take action to correct it. I have already directed my repair system to halt the energon flow to that section."

 

Jack nodded; he could sense the increased activity now around the injury.

 

"It appears that it was not my diagnostics that were malfunctioning at all," the Prime continued, "but rather something was preventing me from noting the warnings they were giving. But more importantly, I have been leaking a slow but constant stream of energon since we left the rest stop this morning. There is a strong likelyhood that the Decpticons have already picked up the trail and are hunting me."

 

The human stiffened in the seat.

 

"Doesn't that mean that Ratchet should be able to detect it too?" He pointed out. "They know our route, will he be sending backup?"

 

"At this distance the sensors we have available to us are not sensitive enough to detect such small quantities of energon spread out as they are." Optimus said. "The Nemesis however, has that capability. While there is a chance they may have missed the relatively small quantity I have leaked it is never wise to underestimate Soundwave. Nevertheless until we are sure it would be equally unwise to reveal our location by contacting headquarters. As the equipment I carry cannot be safely transported over the groundbridge, I believe our best course of action will be to continue on maintaining radio silence and drive straight back to base without pause."

 

Jack nodded.

 

"So what should I tell Blue Sky to explain why were splitting up?" Jack didn't need Optimus to explain it to him to figure out they could no longer travel with their new friends.

 

"I will leave that up to you Jack." Optimus said. 

 

As the seconds ticked pass the human's newfound senses were fading, leaving him feeling oddly blind despite the brilliant afternoon sun. He glanced over at Zech who had just stepped out of the cab and seemed to be just standing there spacing out. Suddenly his face lit up with a silver glow.

 

"Optimus! Did you see that?" Jack asked.

 

"What?" Optimus asked. 

 

"Zech's eyes." Jack said. "They're glowing, bright enough for me to see it from here!" 

 

The human realized he was staring and forced his own eyes away.

 

"Jack, I can detect no luminosity coming from Mr. Franklin's eyes," Optimus replied quietly.

 

Jack stared over at the other human. Even in the bright afternoon light his eyes were giving off a distinct glow. It was fading now, along with the sense of Optimus's spark. Zech suddenly jumped up into Sal's cab and picked up his CB mic. The human took a deep breath and rested his forehead against the comforting presence of the Autobot shield on the steering wheel for the briefest of moments. Over the past months he had become used to reality rearranging itself on a regular basis. But that almost always had something to do with the Cybertronians. This was Earthbound, he was increasingly sure.

 

"Are you well Jack?" Optimus asked in concern.

 

"I think so," Jack said rubbing his eyes, "It's just that energon surge you had seems to have set all my senses on edge."

 

"Even given that my senses are questionable at the moment," Optimus said in a concerned tone, "I can assure you Jack I experienced no energon surge. While I felt the effects of the pulse you refer to I am unable to analyze its spectrum. I only know that it came from beneath me and had the effect of clearing whatever force was clouding my judgment. It was in fact quite invigorating."

 

"But I was just there," Jack said, "the only thing under you was…"

 

"Jackson, think quickly, he is approaching," the Prime said.

 

Sure enough the trucker was striding towards them with a determined look on his face. Jack opened the door and faced his new friend resolutely. Whatever odd abilities the other human displayed, he was using them to help. The last thing they needed was another friendly in danger with con's possibly approaching.

 

"Zech, we need to split up." Jack said, going for the most straightforward line. "With the oil he's lost Red Warrior can't go to fast but you have deliveries to make. Trucker's honor and all that. Sal can probably outpace us so you'd better just leave us behind. It was good buddying up with you but, urk -"

 

Jack suddenly found his face about three inches from the trucker's. Zech's right hand was still resting causally on the door frame but his left was firmly wrapped around the younger man's neck.

 

"Listen close Cheechako." Zech said in a surprisingly mild tone. "I've sent much bigger guys than you to the hospital for far less than suggesting that I'd abandon friends because of a little danger. There are three things keeping you from receiving an instructional whumping right now." 

The trucker glared intensely at him while delivering this speech.

 

"Um, three things?" Jack gasped.

 

Zech released him and held up his index finger.

 

"One; I'm pretty sure you're acting under orders. Two," the second finger popped up, "you're a newbie so I'm cutting you some slack. Three," he turned and looked directly in the direction of Optimus's spark chamber, "There is no way in the seven levels you would let anyone hurt your charge. Isn't that right old timer?"

 

There was silence in the cab. Jack started to speak but Zech raised a hand.

 

"Okay, I get it; strict confidentiality orders." He said dismissively. "You guys can't tell me what you know. I come from a military family. I know well how that works. But let me tell you what I know." He was still speaking directly to the silent Autobot. "There are two hunters tailing you guys. A slick red sports car and a blue SUV. They were just sniffing around the diner where we stopped for lunch, so they're close. Until you two can call in backup Sal and I are sticking to you like glue. You are still in pretty bad shape, don't try to deny it; I can feel your life force fluctuating. This whole situation is our fault anyway."

 

Jack had recovered from the shock by this time and sat up straighter.

 

"Zech," he said, trying at least to match the firmness he heard in the trucker's tone. "We appreciate the thought, but these are our enemies, not yours. If it comes down to a fight there is nothing you could do." 

That comment about feeling life force was filed away in his brain with all the other odd things that had happened. 

 

"Smith! Enough." Optimus's voice rumbled through the cab, ending the argument. "Mr. Franklin, I appreciate your offer and thank you for the intelligence. For the time being we will continue to travel in convoy. Please assume a lead position and maintain a distance of five hundred yards ahead at all times. What is Salcha's maximum cruising speed?"

 

Jack stared at the dash in shock as the trucker replied.

 

"He can maintain eighty or eighty five mph easy for six hours or more." Zech rattled off in the tone that seemed universally reserved for mechanical specs. "Sixty five or seventy for ten hours. One-ten for stretches of an hour or so and one-seventy for short bursts."

 

"That will be sufficient." Optimus said. "The energy current you utilized to remove the force that was preventing me from noticing the damaged energon lines, would it have had any effect on my communication abilities?"

 

"Naw, I don't think so." Zech replied with a thoughtful frown. "I've never tried a purge like that on someone like you before but it was just a low energy healing pulse. The poison that caused the problem in the first place might be messing with you still; I couldn't get it all. Does that mean you can't call for backup?"

 

"We can continue this conversation on the road." Optimus said, and the truck vibrated as if the Prime was shaking himself. "Knockout and Breakdown come closer with every second. Return to Salcha and roll out."

 

"Yes sir!" Zech replied. 

He hopped out of the cab and sprinted over to Sal.

 

"Jack, take the wheel. I need to focus on attempting to contact base," Optimus ordered.

Jack nodded and started up the Autobot's engine. Questions were swirling in his mind as he pulled out behind Blue Sky and accelerated away from the three hunters coursing behind them.


	9. The Chase

The Chase

Blood and Energon 9

A Transformers Prime FanFiction

 

"Optimus, can you call for back up?" Jack asked urgently.

 

"No Jack." Optimus replied in that same tired tone. "It would appear that whatever poison is in my system has damaged my transmission capabilities. I am in the process of running several diagnostics at the moment, but as we have seen their reliability is questionable, despite what improvement Mr. Franklin may have instigated. Until my internal repairs can take effect we are on our own."

 

"Um, if you don't mind my asking, why am I driving?" Jack inquired as they approached a corner.

"The poison has affected all of my systems," Optimus said. "Including balance and direction. I can supply the power and some minor adjustments but I am afraid the task of getting us to safety lies with you at the moment."

 

Jack felt something clench in his gut. Optimus Prime had become synonymous with indestructible in his mind. As he down shifted an image flashed into his head, the Autobot leader lying on the berth; the plague eating slowly across his face. Jack shoved the picture aside as he focused on downshifting. There was a grinding noise and the Prime let out a grunt of pain.

 

"I'm sorry!" Jack called out frantically as they reached the corner. 

Distracted Jack swerved into the next lane and nearly took them off the road. He spent several seconds over correcting before they straightened out again.

 

"Jackson," Optimus said firmly, there was a tightness in his voice, "Focus! Put all your attention into driving. Our very lives and those of Blue Sky depended on it. I must continue trying to contact base."

 

The road straightened out ahead of them and Jack shifted into high gear. He gave all his attention to the process this time and the gears slid noiselessly into place. Something still felt wrong though. Jack desperately wanted to ask the Autobot how he was feeling, but decided that would only earn him another reprimand.

 

"Blue Sky, Red Warrior," Jack called as they barreled down the Alcan.

 

"Red Warrior, Blue Sky," it wasn't Zech's odd accent that answered but a deep growl of a voice.

 

"Ah, I guess I'm talking to Salcha now?" the human asked in surprise.

 

"Yes," Sal replied bluntly. "We figured the normal CB waves weren't safe so I'll do the talking from here on out while Zech drives."

"Aren't you still using the radio though?" Jack asked, his face wrinkling in confusion. 

 

"Nope," Sal answered laconically.

"It would appear Salcha is broadcasting on a highly unusual frequency range; most human equipment would be unable to detect it and most Cybertronian equipment isn't programmed to," Optimus offered. "It is for all intents and purposes undetectable to our pursuers."

 

Jack nodded and triggered the radio again.

 

"Listen;" He began in an urgent tone, "about the guys chasing us. The red sports car is named Knockout. The blue SUV is Breakdown and they are both bad news. Knockout is a speed fighter, good at close range, prefers to use his energon prod if he can, but doesn't like to scratch his paintjob. Breakdown is more of a bruiser. He had a heavy hammer he uses for attacks and prefers close combat. They both have ranged plasma weapons."

Jack stopped, searching his brain for any information that might be useful to their newfound allies or at least scare them enough to leave. Though remembering the look on Zech's face the latter was not a likely outcome.

 

"Energon?" Salcha's voice rumbled over the airwaves.

 

"The 'special' oil Red Warrior's been leaking," Jack explained. "Hurts like the pit. I have no idea what it would do to you."

 

"Is there any way you guys could call for help?" Jack asked seizing on an off chance.

 

"We already have," Sal answered. "There are a few radio's along this rout that are specially designed to pick up my signal. I gave one of them your plates and mine and instructions to contact a cousin who's an officer at Ft. Wainright and one at Eielson. They'll start rattling the chain of command. Eventually someone who will recognise Red Warrior's number will get the message."

 

"Eventually," Jack muttered. It was the best they had.

 

The human had to stop talking to navigate a turn. Optimus shuddered a bit as he downshifted but made no sound. Jack filled in Blue Sky as best he could on the straight stretches. As the chase continued down the highway, the pursuers drew ever closer. Both the Autobot and Sal had more power than either of their pursuers, but even the Prime of Cybertron cannot disobey the laws of physics on the open road. With each curve the lower centers of gravity and lesser masses of the Decpticons allowed them to gain precious miles. Just as the highway began a wide swing to the east Jack felt a prickling at the base of his neck. Something was behind him; two somethings.

 

"Red Warrior!" the now familiar deep voice rumbled, "They are near, five minutes before they catch up."

 

"Roger that Blue Sky," Jack replied.

 

He could feel the Decpticons getting closer.

 

"Two minutes ahead there's a wide spot that would give us plenty of room to maneuver and has no human habitation nearby." Sal said. "We should pull out there and make a stand. I can ditch my trailer in forty five seconds and the trees might give us a few more seconds if they don't see us turn."

 

"As he suggests, Jack," Optimus said.

 

Jack nodded. Blue Sky took the turn at nearly full speed. The human downshifted, but not enough. He felt Optimus began to roll. For one terrible moment he thought they were going to flip, but at the last second the Autobot shifted his weight and they swung onto the gravel road. Just as Salcha had said the road widened into a massive and uneven gravel flat. Blue Sky had backed their trailer into the woods and disconnected from it already. Jack looked blankly at the controls, forward was one thing, reverse… Optimus retook control and eased his trailer into a spot a few hundred yards from the Franklin rig. Jack felt the semi disconnect then surrender control again.

 

Jack steered them out onto the highest ground the lot had to offer and Optimus killed the lights. Sal was also waiting in the slowly deepening darkness. Jack saw that several tie straps loosely held massive timbers and rocks. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The seconds stretched out unbelievably as the Decpticons seemed to inch closer. Optimus was giving calmly Salcha last minute instructions.

 

"Jack," Optimus's voice cut through his thoughts and the human jerked and snapped his eyes open, "get out, seek shelter. Now!"

 

He wanted to protest, wanted to help, but there was no arguing when Optimus Prime gave an order in that tone of voice. Jack jumped out of the cab and sprinted for the tree line. As he passed Blue Sky Salcha called out,

 

"Wait a sec." Sal called out. 

The passenger door popped open and a very ticked off Zech was thrown bodily from the cab. Jack caught the squirming figure and staggered under the weight. Zech was tightly wrapped from the waist up in a black tie strap. Sal must not have quite the same level of command presence Jack thought as he half led half dragged the fuming trucker away from his friend. At some point he was going to have to figure out why and how the older man's eyes glowed Autobot blue like that. Once they were in the woods he assisted Zech in unwrapping the tie. They swiftly crouched behind a glacial boulder as the purr of a high performance engine swept past, screeched to a stop, and spun back onto the gravel road. Jack noted out of the corner of his eye that Zech was gripping a shotgun and his pockets bulged with what was probably extra ammunition.

 

But his main attention was now on the transforming Autobot. He could feel the pain and stiffness of the action, sensed the lack of balance that was plaguing Optimus. Still the Prime was standing tall in full protoform with weapons charged before Knockout burst out onto the battle field. Where was Breakdown? Jack glanced around frantically.

 

"Sal, incoming unfriendly, six thirty," he heard Zech whisper into his cupped hand.

Jack tried to focus his new senses in that direction but they were fading fast now.

 

"Well, I can sure guess what big brother's gonna be wanting for Christmas this year," Zech whispered; staring in admiration at the towering figure of Optimus Prime.

 

"Optimus!" Knockout purred, sauntering closer. "It's so good to see you again. Who's your new friend?"

 

"A Warrior!" Salcha growled.

 

Jack felt a wave of fear hit him at the sound and he let out a gasp. Knockout hesitated and the smirk on his face became a bit strained. The human felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He glanced over at Zech's glowing eyes.

 

"Subsonics," the trucker whispered nodding toward Salcha.

 

"Your business is with me," Optimus stated, stepping between the Decpticon and the blue semi.

 

"Yeeeesss, and speaking of business, what exactly is yours here?" the slick con asked, his head at an angle, toying with his energon prod. "Why would the mighty Optimus Prime be driving injured from nowhere to nowhere with only one other Autobot as an escort?"

 

"He's stalling," Zech muttered, "Why?"

The trucker closed his eyes and leaned against the boulder. Suddenly he reached out and grasped Jack's hand firmly. Jack gasped, that fleeting sixth sense that had been flickering at the edge of his awareness seemed to burst inside his mind. He was flooded with a host of new impressions. The trees around him hummed with life. Little glowing lanterns flickered through the earth and air. Energon was singing through Optimus's frame. Darker more ominous notes trilled from Knockout and the slowly approaching Breakdown. Salcha, something seemed to crawl up Jack's spine as his eyes fell on the blue semi. A dark coiled mass sat in the engine compartment, tendrils reached throughout the entire frame.

 

"The sky, Kid! The sky!" Zech's voice snapped him back to reality. 

Jack sent the sense probing heavenward, half knowing what he was going to see. Five more lives raced fiercely towards them, they were missing something the other Cybertronians had. Jack gasped again as Zech let go of his hand and the clarity of the sense faded.

 

"What are they? Friend or foe?" the trucker demanded.

 

"Foe, definitely foe. Seeker drones," Jack got out.

 

"Five seeker drones approaching from East nor'East," Zech muttered into his hand.

 

A second passed, and Optimus Prime attacked.


	10. Battle

Battle

Blood and Energon 10

A Transformers Prime FanFiction

 

Optimus Prime unleashed three rapid shots from his plasma cannon. Knockout dodged lightly to one side and charged. The Autobot swung his body into a closed position; shoulder to the oncoming Decpticon, presenting as small a target as possible for the energon prod. The con dodged side to side, feinting and dancing around his opponent. He knew the larger mech had lost a lot of energon over the day and would be lacking his usual stamina. But the unsteadiness he was witnessing was surprising, and encouraging. Perhaps they wouldn't have to wait for the air support after all. There was a sound of tearing metal from where Breakdown was engaging the mystery Autobot.

 

Salcha had waited eagerly for their opponents to arrive. Confined as he was to this steel and aluminum body he rarely was in a position to defend his clan mates in such a physical way, and welcomed a chance at battle, especially with such an ally at his side. He actually would have liked to keep Zech in the safety of his cab, but he knew next to nothing about the coming enemy and decided to defer to the experience of the older warrior. Sal was a bit concerned by one thing; even with Red Warrior waiting battle ready right beside him he couldn't sense the semi's life energy. That might be due to the fact the other was weak from blood loss and Sal never was the best in the clan at detecting life force, but it was odd the sensitive and forthcoming Zech had been so reluctant to describe the life force.

 

Suddenly Red Warrior stood. Sal watched in amazement, fascination, and then plain old envy as the metal plates that covered the body of the semi scattered and then rearranged themselves. Within seconds the Peterbilt had been replaced by a massive robot. There was a beautiful shotgun noise as one hand transformed again into a glowing plasma cannon and the other seemed to summon a sword from thin air. Sal immediately began calculating how much pull the Clan could bring to bear in the military to get him a body like that for Christmas. That pleasant train of thought was interrupted by a sleek red robot loping out onto the battlefield.

 

Salcha felt a warning from Zech over their special frequency and passed it on to Red Warrior. Someone was sneaking up behind them. It was a bit disquieting to know such a powerful soldier could get the drop on him so easily, but Sal shrugged it off. Knowing and being able to sense all the different kinds was humanity's job.

 

Meanwhile Sal indulged himself in an immediate disliking for this new comer and set about finding ways to justify it. It wasn't hard. The mechinoid warrior was simultaneously scrawny and puffed up. Slim wrist joints tapered up to massive rounded shoulders. He wore an irritating smirk on a too narrow face that leered up at the towering Red Warrior. Whereas nearly every square inch of the semi's body was covered with the minor scratches and dings of an honest soldier's life, the gleaming little snit shone like some rich kid's new Daddy toy. Sal's growing sentiment only deepened when the robot opened its mouth to speak.

 

"Optimus!" Knockout purred, sauntering closer. "It's so good to see you again. Who's your new friend?"

 

Fury bubbled up in Salcha at the intimate tone the enemy used. How dare this snide punk know more about his new friend than he did?

 

"A Warrior!" Sal spoke for himself, pouring all his fury into his voice.

From the twitching that inspired on the mech's face they must be as sensitive to his subsonics as humans. He could hear the pathetic attempts of the second enemy at stealth as it approached through the forest and readied a boulder he had coiled in a tie strap.

Zech sent another warning; aircraft, five of them, on an East nor'East vector. Sal relayed that to Red Warrior who fired back a command.

 

*Attack now,* Optimus ordered, "before reinforcements arrive.*

 

*Allright!* Sal replied eagerly *You pound that smirk off Dandy Boy's face there and I'll chew up this bull charging through the woods!"

 

Salcha spun around and accelerated towards the oncoming opponent. He could see the trees tremmoring along the path it was taking. Sal calculated the likely moment of exit and snapped two boulders through the air. With a rush a bulky blue mechinoid burst out of the trees only to be met in the face by several hundred pounds of granite. The robot was thrown back into the tangle of devil's club and vine willow. Sal followed up by roaring out a blast of his subsonics from less than three feet away.

 

Breakdown, Smithy had said his name was. This close, and under his headlights, the big rig got a good look at his opponent. The bulky blue warrior was battle scared and the rough patch that covered one eye showed he gave little attention to his appearance. Sal rumbled in pleasure, a worthy opponent at least. He was struggling up from the combined force of the vegetation and the noise wreaking havoc with his mind. With a snarl the blue mech swung his fist out. Sal smugly eased back a few inches out of his reach. The relatively weak aluminum skin was sheared off of his steel reinforced engine compartment, sending shrieks of protesting metal through his entire frame and abruptly ending his subsonic assault. Oh yes, the hammer, Salcha belatedly remembered, pulling back quickly.

 

Breakdown seized the opening and charged forward swinging his weapon down towards the exposed engine compartment. Salcha lunged at him and met the mech half way. The hammer crushed down into his cab, then pulled out with a ripping sound, little bits of paper fluttering in the wind. Sal reengaged his subsonics and swung two timbers around to slam into the blue mech. Breakdown deflected one with his hammer but the other caught him square in the head, sending the con staggering to the side. The semi accelerated forward and used one of the logs to lever his front end up at the last minute, pinning his opponent beneath him. In addition to the usual ten tons a semi could bring to bear the added reinforcements the Franklins had installed over time gave him two or three tons more.

 

The prone Decpticon struggled under the tonnage and the confusion caused by the grinding roar of Sal's subsonics. His hammer was pinned to the ground but his other hand reached up and grabbed at the side of the engine compartment. Dark blue fingers punctured the thin aluminum and wrapped around a solid steel bar. Breakdown wrenched as heard as he could and the metal gave with a shriek. Slacha screamed in pain and fury.

 

Knockout heard an enemy's suffering and staggered back shaking his head in pain. The humans heard a predator's rage and fell to their knees vomiting in primal fear. Optimus Prime heard the cry of an injured charge and turned through the pain to see if he could aid their friend.

 

Salcha had lunged further forward and was pounding on Breakdown with several small boulders. A viscous black liquid was leaking down onto the struggling con. Where each drop touched something happened. It wasn't pain, not exactly. It was fear that spread out from the slime's touch. With one more lunge the battered semi was off of the Decpticon. He spun around to reengage the fight, but stopped. A thick mass of the liquid had fallen on Breakdown's face as he had rolled over the con. The blue mech was now clawing at his face and snarling as Sal's blood began to corrode away his exposed circuits. Deciding he was out of the fight for awhile at least, Sal turned his attention to Knockout.

 

Then the world exploded around him.


	11. A Taste of Energon

Blood and Energon 11

A Taste of Energon

A Transformers Prime FanFiction

 

Knockout shot the servos of one hand forward, following with his energon spear, prepared to finish up with a few quick jabs. The point of this was to pin the Autobot down until the air strike arrived, after all, not to offline the big bot himself. But to his surprise Optimus failed to fully deflect the opening feint, and the medic's talons gouged primary red paint off his armor. The Prime's blade came down and swept the energon spear to the side at the last moment, barely protecting his core. Knockout narrowed his optics and grinned wolfishly. Clearly he was over estimating his opponent.

 

The Decepticon began pressing his advantage; lunging in at the Prime and darting out of the way of his strikes easily. Now, why wasn't the Autobot using his plasma cannon more, the con wondered. Most likely there were some skin-jobs hiding nearby, and the soft sparked fool didn't want to endanger them. Now where, maybe by the trailers? Suddenly Optimus stumbled on the uneven ground, for a split second his spark chamber was unguarded. Knockout seized the opportunity and aimed his weapon at the enemy's spark. A split second too late he realized his mistake, but he was already committed to the strike.

 

A massive arm shot up and deflected the spear. Optimus slammed a hand down on the con's shoulder, using his own momentum to throw Knockout over his hip. A knee came up, pistoning into the gleaming chassis, then impacting repeatedly into the vain mech's faceplate. Simultaneously Prime's energon blade came down, slicing into the transformation seam on the back of his opponent's knee. Knockout shot out of the Autobot's grasp with a shriek of rage.

 

"My paint job!" he howled as he limped away. "Do you have any idea how long this will take to fix," he gestured at the torn mesh on his torso.

 

Optimus only took up a ready position. Knockout cursed himself for thinking even a weakened Prime was easy prey. While the con's injuries certainly didn't put him out of the fight entirely, the Autobot had essentially leveled the playing field. Knockout began circling the wounded soldier firing off plasma blasts from a safe distance, blasts that were deflected harmlessly off an energon shield, but they served the purpose of keeping the prey pinned. The Decepticon medic began casting about with his sensors for the fleshlings. A hostage could prove very useful.

 

A wave of pain and fear suddenly swept over the Decpticon. Something cold and slimy seemed to writhe in ecstasy in his spark chamber. He realized in panic he had dropped to his knees and struggled to stand. But Optimus Prime was no longer focused on the Decpticon. He had turned back toward the mystery Autobot. The blue semi still hadn't transformed but appeared to have Breakdown pinned. Get away, screamed every instinct in the con's programming. But the fear and pain held him rooted to the ground. His com had chirped a second, then a third time before he recognized it. The seeker drones were in range. He quickly relayed his and Breakdown's coordinates and ordered an air strike on the Autobots. The blue Autobot had disengaged from Breakdown and appeared to be coming toward him. Breakdown seemed preoccupied with ripping his own face off at the moment.

 

Suddenly chaos erupted around them. Seeker drones weren't the best shots in the Decpticon ranks, but they usually had no problem hitting what were essentially stationary targets. Now however they seemed to be raining down destruction randomly across the battlefield. Knockout fell to the ground cursing them and demanded an explanation over the com. The drones returned with a lot of senseless chatter. The con ordered them to hold fire until further notice. The dust from the strike was beginning to settle. Breakdown was still on the ground snarling incoherently. He hadn't even noticed the attack as far and Knockout could tell. Where was Optimus?

 

Knockout leapt up and spun around, just as a front kick met him full force in the faceplates. The con went flying back and landed with a mesh tearing skid. Optimus seized the opportunity to rush over and heave Sal upright. The blue semi looked terrible; his front axle was broken, his aluminum skin was shredded, and his frame was warped.

 

"Yeah, I'm fine, before you ask," Salcha growled. "None of these wounds are fatal. I just won't be drag racing for awhile."

 

"Good," Optimus muttered shaking his head.

 

He staggered slightly and put out a hand to brace himself on top of Salcha's cab. The air strike had injured the Prime, blind luck plays no favorites on the battle field. The armor on his shield arm was cracked and leaking energon. Sal felt the blue fluid began to drip down onto his frame. Where each droplet touched a nerve a shiver of pleasure radiated out through his body. Spindly black tentacles reached out instinctively for the wounded warrior above him. Starting in horror Sal pulled his appendages back, trying not to think about how weak his new friend was, how good that strange blue fluid tasted.

 

"Salcha, you are trembling," Red Warrior said in concern.

 

"I'm fine!" Sal snarled. "You're life's blood, dripping into my engine…"

 

The Prime starred back. Pulling his injured arm to his torso.

 

"Did it injure you?" He asked in concern. 

 

Sal could sense the warrior now. Even the few drops of life force he had absorbed opened the creature before him to his deeper senses. Right now waves of care and concern were washing over the blue semi. Weakened from the loss of life's blood, battered from battle, Optimus's main concern was for Sal's welfare.

 

"No you don't understand. I, eat, consume, blood, all kinds of blood. Yours tastes good. I didn't even ask but I ate some of yours. I…" Sal was babbling he knew. He wanted to apologize but was coming off accusatory.

 

Red Warrior tilted his head to one side in thought, and deliberately placed the leaking arm over Salcha's battered engine compartment.

 

"I will be able to stop the leak soon," he said gently, "until then you are welcome to as much as spills out. It might as well do one of us some good."

 

"Thank you," Sal managed to get out in shock.   
The only others who had ever freely offered their blood were his own family members. The blue liquid was flowing down into his engine compartment. He eagerly opened his mouths to accept the offering. Immediately he felt new strength flowing through him and his wounds begin to heal. The blood of a warrior freely given was always powerful, and here was a warrior indeed.

 

"Ah, Zech and Jack are fine by the way, they want to know if it's safe to come out yet," Sal relayed suddenly.

 

Optimus looked over to where Knockout was slowly getting up, and then up to the circling drones.

 

"The battle is far from won," he said grimly, "tell them to stay hidden."

 

"Okay, by the way." Sal gestured up at the drones, "I think I can block any of their signals from getting in or out. But I can't differentiate between yours and theirs and it's probably gonna be uncomfortable. Want me too?" he offered, listening to the chattering of the seeker drones.

 

Optimus nodded and flexed his shield arm. The leaking had stopped. Suddenly a grating noise came over the radio. The Autobot flinched and shook his head. Whatever signal Salcha was giving off it indeed blocked transmissions.

 

Suddenly he caught a movement out of the corner of his optic. Knockout had regained his feet and was aiming a missile at Salcha. Cursing himself for his inattention Optimus lunged to intercept the projectile. Of course the Decepticon would try to offline the one blocking the signal. In his spark the Prime knew he was too slow. But something flew past him faster than the optic could follow. There was an explosion immediately in front of Knockout as the object impacted with the missile, throwing the con onto his back.

 

A quick physics lesson. A missile leaves its launch point at essentially zero miles per hour and accelerates towards its target. A traditional projectile like say, a two-hundred pound boulder, leaves its point of origin at its maximum speed and decelerated due to friction. Sal had seen the con pointing the missile at him and thrown the rock he'd had ready, snapping it out from his coiled tie strap at something approaching the speed of sound. The explosion of granite less than a foot from his faceplate thoroughly stunned the already weakened Decpticon. Unfortunately, he had already signaled the drones down to engage in the mêlée.

 

Optimus saw them coming and fired off two quick shots. Both struck their intended targets and sent them crashing to the ground. Before he could follow through on the advantage the Prime staggered and caught himself on Sal. Seekers rarely fell that easily, however the blue semi was blocking the signal it was interfering with his CPU and those of the Decepticons as well. The seeker drones came in for a strafing run and Optimus crouched over his wounded friend to return fire. His shield was able to deflect the majority of the shots. The fliers circled around for a second time and prepared to transform and land as per their last orders.

 

"Red Warrior! Cover your eyes," Sal pulled a large mustard yellow fire extinguisher out of his cab and flung it into the midst of the drones as they landed. One automatically fired at the canister. Funny thing about chemical mixtures, under one set of circumstances they display one property, under another they display entirely different properties. The fire retardant copper powder superheated at the plasma blast and exploded in a cloud of flaming particulates, effectively blinding the remaining three drones. Once the cloud had cleared Optimus stepped in and easily finished them with his energon blade. Knockout had apparently recovered and was assisting Breakdown to his feet. The two hurled a few parting insults at them and transformed, speeding off into the maze of gravel roads that led out of the battle field.

 

Optimus allowed himself to relax a moment and Sal let the jamming signal drop. He had no idea how far it worked anyway.

 

"Ha! We sure showed those goons!" Salcha crowed in delight. "Lookit em run. Will there be any more coming?"

 

The Prime lifted a brow at the eagerness in the semi's voice. They were both badly injured and in no shape to fight. He was about to answer when the thrumming of a low flying helicopter sounded from the north. Optimus armed his weapons and Sal picked up another boulder. But just as quickly he powered down and rested a restraining hand on his ally.

 

"Easy," Optimus said soothingly, "a friend approaches. Tell me are you known to the government of this land?"

"Canada?" Sal asked, "Yeah, Zech's got a few cousins in the military here. They make sure the appropriate authorities know. Not sure if the current PM knows tho. I think they only tell him if I make trouble, and I've been good the past few years."

 

"So" Optimus pressed, "there will be no issues when I report this incident to our liaison with the human governments?"

 

"Uh," Sal pondered this thoughtfully, "maybe a little, if he doesn't know. But it'll get worked out, I'm sure."

 

"Very well" Optimus replied with a rueful smile, "please summon Zech and Smith."

 

A Chinook was settling down onto the gravel, double props whipping the air into a miniature windstorm as the two young men walked out of the forest. Special Agent William Fowler stepped down and glared across the battlefield. Five dead cons to clean up, at least one new human to account for, a civilian semi to replace from the looks of it, and all in a foreign country; he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. Look on the bright side, he told himself, everyone is alive and you can kill them all later.

 

"Fowler?" Optimus was staring off to the west, "Did you bring backup?"

 

"No, just the one Chinook. Why?" he asked.

 

"Another approaches," Optimus said rearming his weapon.

 

A sleek Apache attack chopper came zipping over the tree line.

 

"Hold your fire, Red Warrior," Fowler said listening to his radio and frowning. "They're giving the right codes. It's one of ours. But I didn't call for a 'pache."

 

"Ah, actually that would probably be our penguin," a voice supplied.

They all turned to look at Zech who was leaning into Sal's engine compartment.

 

"Your 'penguin'?" Optimus asked in confusion.

 

"Yeah, the Fed who usually handles covering for Sal," the young man explained. "And wow he looks ticked off today."

 

"Sal?" Fowler asked arching an eyebrow.

 

"Salcha Franklin! Of Franklin trucking, at your service," the blue semi extended a tie strap to the stunned agent, who automatically took the tie in hand to shake.

 

"Sorry about all the robot goop," Sal said when he saw Fowler wipe his hands on his pants, "That blue one was juicy."

 

"Oh, I am gonna just love writing this report," Fowler muttered.


	12. Conflict

Blood and Energon 12

A Transformers Prime Fanfiction

 

The agent winced and turned his attention to the figure climbing out of the chopper. A middle aged white man wearing a black suit with a F.B.I. name tag clipped to his lapel. Slightly overweight and scowling, he was essentially a photographic negative of Agent Fowler. He snapped out his ID.

 

"The names Jonson F.B.I. You," he growled, pointing at Fowler, "take your chopper and your funky bot and get out of here now."

 

"It's Special Agent William Fowler U.S.A.F.," snarled Fowler whipping out his badge in return. "And you can take your attitude and shove it. My agency has precedence here buddy."

The two feds glared at each other for a moment before swapping ID's. Johnson scowled over at Jack who was carefully inspecting Optimus's injuries then at Zech who was rooting through Sal's crumpled cab.

 

"You two," he called, "keep your rigs separate don't let them get any closer or talk any more. The eagle here and I need to go establish whose charge is more top secret." 

 

He and Fowler returned each other's badges and stalked over to the Apache.

 

Optimus could see Jack stiffen at the abrasive and dismissive tone of the strange federal agent.

 

"Smith, would you assist me in checking my injuries?" he suggested diplomatically. 

 

The human immediately turned his attention to the task.

 

"Hey Zech, you got a spare flash light?" Jack called.

 

"Sure," the trucker pulled a black mag-light out of a dented toolbox and threw it over to him. "If you need anything else just ask. There aren't too many mechanics we can trust to work on Sal's body so we keep everything we might need on hand and it looks like most of it survived."

 

Optimus directed Jack to where he could feel damage and the human relayed what he could see. After a few minutes of inspection they decided that the Autobot's systems had recovered everywhere except his extremities. The Prime began instructing Jack in a few basic field repairs that would aid his nanobot's recovery efforts. The work kept the human too busy to think about the agents' conference. Zech was similarly occupied with Sal selecting containers of dark liquid from that damaged cab and pouring them into the engine compartment. The young men called back and forth exchanging tools and suggestions.

 

Thankfully the humans seemed completely uninjured from the aerial assault. Optimus wondered about that. The area they had been hiding in had taken quite a beating. Trees were snapped in two and even the large granite boulder they had sheltered behind was missing a few chunks. But neither of them displayed even mild lacerations. He studied the ground around the boulder. An uneven oblong of smooth turf caught his attention. The ground surrounding it was pockmarked with thousands of impact craters. Optimus focused in on the undamaged patch. Just inside of it two human shaped imprints could be seen. He knew humans were experimenting with force field technology, but did not think they possessed it in any practical form yet. Certainly not one a civilian like Zech would be able to afford. A mystery for another day, the Prime decided.

 

He could hear Sal grumbling quietly to Zech over their forced lack of communication. The human did not seem overly concerned by his friend's battered condition. The young man was going about the repairs with unhurried but careful attention.

 

Soon the two men came back from the chopper. Fowler was angry; angry and very quiet. The agent who'd introduced himself as Johnson looked grim.

 

"Franklin!" he snapped, "get your rig ready to be choppered out of here. The nice eagle here has volunteered to loan us the use of the Chinook."

 

He jerked his chin toward the scowling Fowler.

 

"Wait. What?" Sal demanded. "Look you stuffed shirt, city slicking, balding idiot! I. Do. Not. Fly!"

 

"Whoa yeah, Johnson. That is a bad idea; a very bad idea," Zech confirmed, he eyes widening in distress.

 

"And even if I did," Sal continued, "there is no way this side of sheol I'm abandoning Red Warrior right now. Those goons could be back any minute."

 

"Shut your trap," Johnson snarled. "That's a federal order. You are in no shape to fight and you need to be gone if they come back regardless."

 

The battered sky blue semi let out a low growl and pointed a frayed tie strap at the fed.

 

"You, listen punk," he started, only to be stopped when Optimus laid a restraining hand on his cab.

 

"Agent Johnson," the Autobot said soothingly, "Sal has already learned much of our presence on this planet. Moving him by helicopter would be dangerous as well as uncomfortable. Allow me to tow him to a suitable repair facility while we wait for reinforcements."

 

"Optimus!" Fowler interjected harshly. "As you respect our laws, as you respect human life, shut up now."

 

He was staring at the ground and grinding his teeth as he said it.

 

The Prime looked down at the man in shock. The liaison was a stickler for regulations but he always put the safety and well being of his charges ahead of politics. Suddenly Salcha flinched away from his hand. Optimus turned his attention to their new friend, worried he had hurt the injured truck.

 

"This planet?" there was confusion in the big rigs deep voice as he slowly limped away from the Autobot. "Why do you phrase it like that? We're all from the same planet, right?"

 

"Uh Sal, maybe you'd better-" Zech started.

 

"Don't answer that. No communication!" snapped Johnson.

 

But the gears were already turning in Salcha's mind. Images danced before him; Smith smiling up at Red Warrior, Zech chatting with the other rig easily, the raw power of the tech they'd faced. He felt a cold chill crawl through his tentacles.

 

"Void walker!" he snarled. 

 

Tie straps snapped out and snatched all four humans away from the alien. He lurched his body around and held them tightly on the far side from Red Warrior.

 

"Come no closer outsider," Sal ordered. "I won't let you near them again. You, you're not a semi, you're not a truck at all," he spat at the robot. "You only bear the form of an honest worker when it suits you; deceptive one."

 

"Hey, what's your problem? Optimus would never harm us, he's-" Jack demanded, wriggling in the tight grasp of the straps. 

 

The injured semi gently wrapped a strap around his mouth.

"Silence little one, this isn't your fault," Sal said. "I do want to know what idiot in the government allowed this to happen though. You humans were supposed to keep these things off the planet, not invite them down for tea. That was the deal. And here you are entrusting the life of a young one to them? What is wrong with you?" 

 

He gave the agents a shake.

 

Suddenly Zech started speaking; at least Jack assumed he was speaking. His voice snarled up and down the range from deep growls to high pitched squeaks. Sal appeared to be listening; protesting, relenting, protesting again. The strange conversation dragged on for several minutes. Optimus wisely remained silent and let the human speak to his friend. Finally the tie straps holding the humans began to sag a bit.

 

"It's rude to talk about someone in a language they don't understand right in front of them," Sal eventually muttered.

 

"Well listen to English then," Zech continued. "You've fought beside him, driven beside him for two days now. You freely chose to live among us and abide by our laws when you reached maturity. So abide by the laws of reason. Listen to your head, not your heart on this one. What do you think of him?"

 

"He is a warrior," Sal muttered. "He is a protector of the weak." 

 

The words seemed to crawl out of him unwillingly. Finally the blue rig let out a snarling sigh and shoved Jack and Fowler towards Optimus. The Prime held out his hands and the ties released the two into his palms. They sat there blinking and gasping.

 

"Your humans," he said firmly and pulled Zech and Johnson around in front of him. "My humans. Understand?"

 

Optimus nodded sadly.

 

Zech Sal released except for one tie strap coiled protectively around his upper arm. Johnson he kept cocooned.

 

"The humans say you can stay," Sal stated. "I have to abide by that, but I don't have to like it! So stay away from mine."

 

"Are you going to release Agent Johnson?" Optimus asked curiously.

 

"What?" Sal lifted the squirming agent slightly as if he had only just remember him. "Oh yeah, eventually. But as soon as I do he'll start telling me to shut up and behave and stop talking to you, so I think I'll leave him till we're done talking. You know how feds are."

 

"Hey!" Fowler waved to get the giants' attention. "Didn't have time to tell you before but there's some funky kind of interference going on so Ratchet can't get a groundbridge or a com signal through from Alaska to Washington. I radioed him that you had chased off the cons and the base is waiting for more info. If we're getting out of here we're doing it on our own wheels. So I suggest we get going."

 

"Agreed," Optimus said. "Please relay that we are well and to wait for further instruction. Salcha, I respect the fact that you want nothing to do with me. But as soon as Knockout reaches the edge of the interference they will report in and more like me will come; ones who care very little for human life."

 

"Your point?" Sal growled.

 

"Please allow me to tow you to a safe place for repairs." Optimus said quietly. 

 

"What about the trailers?" Sal changed the subject after a pause that was long enough to become awkward. "We have a contract to fulfill."

 

"I will return for mine later, but lives have priority," Optimus said firmly.

 

Zech looked like he was about to speak but Sal interjected.

 

"You're not even a truck! How are you going to tow me anywhere?" His voice was growing more agitated.

 

Optimus stepped back and transformed. Sal seemed to calm down once he was no longer staring up at a robot.

 

"Salcha?" Optimus asked again.

 

The rig growled and finally burst out in an exasperated growl. 

 

"Zech!" he snapped. "This is your job, do it human."

 

Optimus wondered what he meant but the human didn't hesitate.

 

"Red Warrior, would you please tow my idiot brother somewhere where we won't get blasted to smithereens by a psycho wing of robot jets?" he asked, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

 

Sal harrumphed and stayed silent as Optimus backed up to him. Just as the sky blue rig was about to lever his front end up onto Optimus's tow rig   
Sal let out a yelp of pain.

 

"Hey!" he demanded in a petulant tone. "Do you know how long it takes to grow nerves and muscles into a tie strap like that?"

 

"Jumpin Habaneras! Is that a bowie?" Agent Fowler looked in admiration at the gleaming piece of razor sharp steel Johnson had used to cut himself free of Sal's grasp.

 

"This is unacceptable!" The F.B.I agent yelped. "I explained this Fowler. They can't experience anymore of each others' presence or the repercussions-"

 

"And what pray tell would be the repercussions of the cons catching Sal here alone? Or did you want to argue the benefits of flight again with a stubborn fifteen ton truck?" Fowler demanded.

 

Johnson stopped and glared at Salcha who was easing down into a tow position.

 

"Come on idiot, get in your chopper and check the road ahead for brown bears if you want to be useful," the blue rig muttered to the agent, "and don't worry. I'm not gonna say anything that might put Zech in danger."

 

"You already have," the agent hissed back. 

 

But he stalked over to the chopper and climbed in. Zech finished securing Sal and scrambled into his perforated cab.

 

Fowler climbed up and settled into Optimus's driver's seat as the Chinook took off.

 

"No Agent Fowler, please take the other seat," the Autobot said firmly.

 

Fowler raised his eyebrows but obeyed silently. Jack hopped up into the truck and the seatbelts coiled around him. He started the engine and checked his mirrors.

 

"Blue Sky, Red Warrior." Jack called over the radio. "Are you ready to go?"

 

"Red Warrior, Blue Sky is free and clear," Zech's voice came back.

 

Jack nodded and gracefully eased the two trucks forward. Fowler's face registered shock and annoyance but he held his piece until they were rolling down the highway.

 

"You let him drive but not me?" he finally demanded.

 

"Yes," Optimus replied serenely.

 

Jack squirmed in the seat a little at the glare he was getting from Fowler, but the glow of pride in his gut was well worth the discomfort. 

 

"It is a useful learning experience for Jack," Optimus said. "He has preformed quite well and I trust he will get us the rest of the way in safety. Also Salcha appears to like him and I believe he will take being towed by me in a better spirit with Jackson driving."

 

The young human was positively glowing at the praise now. Fowler sighed and slumped back in to the seat. Behind them Zech had given up trying to talk to his now silent partner and was feeding him bits of muskoxen jerky and whale blubber while they listened to their favorite song on the CD player; the one undamaged instrument on the dash.


	13. Trust

Trust

Blood and Energon 13

A Transformers Prime Fanfiction

 

In the far north the Canadian summer night offers only a pale darkness to any prey seeking cover. 

A primary red and cobalt blue Peterbilt that rolled into a small town towing another rig. The second was incredibly damaged in addition to being far older to the first. They slid through the back roads, past yards full of weeds and toys. Children clinging to the upper branches of trees peered down at the battered trucks as they drove by with curious eyes. Small pieces of paper fluttered out of the damaged rig from gaping holes. The engine compartment looked like it had been perforated with a sledge hammer; several sledge hammers. On closer inspection the semi doing the towing was damaged as well. Innumerable scratches and gouges in the custom paint job and its glass was spider-webbed in a dozen places.

 

"Red Warrior, turn here," Optimus's CB crackled to life. 

 

The young man driving the trucks eased into the turn with the absolute attention that showed both inexperience and budding skill. His older companion sat silently staring out the passenger window. Several more instructions later they pulled into a gravel parking lot. Semi's forklifts, school buses, and other big equipment sat haphazardly around in varying stages of repair or decay; it was hard to tell which. The door on a large repair bay rolled opened as they approached and Jack eased them into the comforting light of the interior. Half a dozen truckers stood around holding wrenches and diagnostic tools with worried looks creasing weather beaten faces. 

 

Agent Fowler frowned; despite the strict radio silence they were clearly expected. 

 

In a show of chaotic efficiency the two trucks were detached and separated before their respective humans could get out. When Jack's feet touched the stained concrete floor Salcha was being elevated on a lift. Zech was already waist deep in the engine compartment shouting out orders to the men around him, most of whom appeared to be relatives.

 

"Cousin James," Zech barked, "get me the welding torch. Uncle Mike I need the number for the red oil people here."

 

The men bustled around communicating in grunts and a mix of metric and standard numbers. The whole scene was chaotic and yet already Sal looked better. 

 

"Smith," Optimus said gently. "It is time for us to roll out. We still need to collect my trailer."

 

"But what about Sal?" Jack looked worriedly over at his friends.

 

"He has requested I not involve myself in his life," the Autobot explained. "I must respect that."

 

"It's not just that Smith," Fowler added, with a tried sigh. "There are reasons; good reasons, that he can't have any contact with the Autobots. Ever."

 

Optimus began to pull forward.

 

"Why?" Jack turned to Fowler. 

He was furious at having to leave their new friends so soon and the agent made a very convenient target for his disappointment.

 

"What is so top secret about Sal," he demanded, "that you can't tell Optimus Prime. It's OPTIMUS for Pete's sake."

 

"That's classified," the agent said, looking straight into the young man's eyes.

 

"That's ridiculous," Jack snapped. 

He was about to go on when he felt the familiar tightening around his shoulders.

 

"Jackson," Optimus's voice was sad and gentle. "Do not be upset at Agent Fowler. I well know that everyone, governments and individuals alike have secrets that they cannot share even with their closest allies. This is especially true if the secret involves another. There is much that we Autobots have not told you, much we will perhaps never tell, secrets gained over millennia. Many times respect for others privacy must come before disclosure."

 

Jack gritted his teeth but sighed and nodded, relaxing into the seatbelt's embrace. With the Autobot driving again there was nothing to distract him from the memories of the past few days, all the odd things that couldn't be explained. He felt the seat belt wrap gently around his wrist and pull his hand down into this lap. The human glanced down at the floorboards in embarrassment. He thought he'd kicked the habit of scratching at his neck whenever he was feeling ashamed or otherwise stressed. The Cybertronian tattoos were itching again too.

 

Suddenly the Prime stopped in the middle of the lot. Jack glanced up in confusion and spotted what had caught Optimus's attention. Two Kenworth semi's were pulling off the road; a golden brown one hauling Blue Sky's trailer, and a jet black one hauling a very familiar silver trailer sporting the Autobot shield. Both displayed a stylized canine head on their doors.

 

"Any Franklin Rig, B.B.W. Black," came over the radio.

 

"B.B.W Black, Blue Sky. Go ahead," Zech replied.

 

"Goldie and me were riding bobtail to Sea town when we caught wind that you had to drop your wiggle wagon so we picked 'em up and hauled 'em over for you," a cheerful voice stated. "Where do you want us to drop them?"

 

"Right out front will do," Zech replied. "But the shiny one isn't a Franklin. It belongs to the Peterbilt there, Red Warrior."

 

"Roger that, Blue Sky. Red Warrior, Big Bad Wolf Black."

 

"Jack," Optimus said.

 

The human tapped the blue screen and answered,

 

"Big Bad Wolf Black, Red Warrior."

 

"Hey there, sorry about picking up your rig without your permission." The cheerful voice said. "B.B.W has an understanding with Franklin and we thought both trailers were Blue Sky's."

 

"No problem," Jack responed. "You just saved us a trip back to pick it up."

 

The black truck began easing backwards to park the trailer.

 

"Yeah," the voice continued. "What in the name of the great ice road happened back there? I haven't seen a forest so torn up since Nam."

 

Fowler shot Jack an intense look.

 

"Ah, that's classified. Sorry," Jack said nervously.

 

"Classified? Well, I guess I shouldn't ask about the bodies scattered around either?" the trucker asked as his rig eased to a stop and he unbuckled. 

The goldish-brown truck had already parked and the trucker was unhitching the trailer.

 

"No, no you shouldn't," Jack sighed.

 

"Jack, Fowler," Optimus said quietly. "Pleas examine closely how the trailer is attached. I left a security protocol in place that should have prevented any Earth truck from hauling it off."

 

Fowler nodded curtly and Jack blinked in surprise. Then they both jumped out of the cab and went to assist the trucker. Jack stared at the hitch closely. It looked properly attached to him, not that he was an expert by any means. The trucker, a huge man with a scruffy demeanor saw him examining the hitch and grinned.

 

"A G-rig huh?" he said observing the uniform Jack wore. "Well that explains that fancy lock on the hitch."

"Um, yeah," Jack looked over at Fowler who only gestured for him to go on. 

What was with the agent and Optimus recently? A little trust was one thing but sometimes it seemed like they conspired to put him in situations where he felt in over his head.

 

"How did you get it off?" he finally asked, deciding on the straight approach.

 

The trucker grinned at him, exposing several missing teeth.

 

"Why, I just asked nicely!" he said cheerfully.

 

Jack must have looked skeptical because the man went on.

 

"Don't believe me?" he asked. "Watch this!"

 

He reached out and gently stroked the side of the trailer. Pale blue light flowed out from his palm and seemed to soak into the gleaming metal.

 

"Now, strange mystery trailer with the funny face on it that I shouldn't be asking questions about," the trucker said sweetly, like he was trying to convince a little niece to share her doll with another child. "Would you pretty please let go of this here truck so I can head on down to the lower forty-eight?"

 

The hitch began to move. It snapped up and retracted away from the semi as the brake lines popped off of their attachment points and recoiled. Simultaneously the landing gear extended to rest on the gravel. In a few moments the process was complete and the trailer was free standing. Jack gaped in surprise.

 

"Why thank you Mr. Trailer, and yeah, that was my reaction at first too," the trucker said with a chuckle. "Say, I gotta get going but let me know when this baby is available on the open market. I could use a few dozen like it. And maybe a three digit ride like that." 

He glanced over Optimus in open admiration.

"Wait! How?" Jack grabbed at the massive shoulder as the man swung up into his cab.

 

The trucker gazed down on the boy in a not unfriendly manner.

 

"Kid, there's a lot of stuff they don't put in textbooks, and a lot of the stuff they do is lies," he finally said. "If you are really curious just start asking up the chain of command about B.B.W. trucking."

A blue sparkle danced in the truckers eyes. 

"Now I'm not saying that you'll get answers but at least you'll be told to quit asking questions by the proper authority. I will say this though. More eyes were watching what happened in that clearing than you realize, and your big friend there might have made an ally or two." 

With that cryptic remark the black rig swung out of the lot followed by the brown. Jack just stood there for a moment, and then jumped back up into Optimus's cab where Fowler was waiting for him.

 

"Well that was informative," he muttered as Optimus backed up to his trailer and initiated lock down protocols.

He was about to describe in detail what he had seen when Fowler glared at him and shook his head.

 

"Let me guess," the younger human said irritated, "It's classified? Optimus asked me to look into a security measure for his own trailer and you're going to tell me to just shut up about what I saw?" 

Fowler looked like he was about to snap back when Optimus interjected.

 

"Enough," the humans fell silent as they felt the trailer latch into place.

"Jack," he said. "Part of our agreement with the governments of your world was that we would abide by their wishes when it came to matters of human security. Our involvement in this matter was from the start accidental. As Mr. Franklin told us earlier; the initial injury was intended for Salcha. From what little I have seen it is clear they we have stumbled on an old conflict, one which predates our arrival and is unrelated to the Decpticon presence on your planet. If the authorities wish to remain silent on the matter such is their right." 

Optimus began to slowly pull out of the lot. "I will respect their choice."

 

Jack crossed his arms but nodded reluctantly. The mysteries were still nagging at him, and he was beginning to think he was seeing things. Shadows and shapes flickering at the edge of his vision. The human desperately wanted to talk to Zech again, to ask about the new senses that the trucker seemed to have awakened in him. Not that it was entirely unpleasant. The steady thrumming of Optimus's spark had become a constant soothing note in the background. When he relaxed and concentrated on the power he could even feel Agent Fowler sitting there. It was odd he thought, except for the volume of the energy they were quite similar.

 

Suddenly the radio crackled to life and Zech's voice rang out.

 

"Red Warrior," he said briskly, "listen up but don't respond I'm broadcasting on a secure frequency but there are others listening around my radio."

 

Fowler frowned but remained silent.

 

"A little birdie told me that you don't have to worry about those two who escaped for awhile." Zech went on. "They won't be able to contact anyone or get home until well after you are safely back at your base, if they make it at all. Also, you don't have to worry about a repeat of the incident that started all this. The perps were actually pretty miffed that they got the wrong rig. Thirdly the interference that's keeping your friend from contacting home base should be clearing in about ten hours. Once again, sorry to drag you into our problems. Back out."

 

In the silence following Fowler let out a sigh. Every answer they got only seemed to raise a dozen more questions.

 

"Jack," Fowler said with a groan. "I probably hate this as much as you do. But my gag orders are coming from way high up. I'd like to go check on them now though. And I need to be there for the cleanup of the drones. Prime, you think the trucker's information is reliable?"

 

"It has been so far," the Autobot responded. "And as Megatron has consistently shown a blatant disregard for his followers it is unlikely he will expend any energy is searching for Knockout or Breakdown when they fail to contact, or in searching further for us for that matter, given the circumstances."

 

"In that case I'll leave you and Jack as soon as my chopper can catch up," Fowler said. "Is your com working yet?"

 

"No Agent Fowler, it is not." Optimus replied. "While my own systems seem to be functioning properly there is still interference."

 

Jack pulled out his cell phone.

 

"Yeah," he confirmed, "still no bars here either."

 

Fowler pulled out a rather bulky looking device and extended an antenna.

 

"Huh, that's odd," he said with a frown. "My sat phone seems to be clear. Want me to try and call base?"

 

"No," Optimus said after a moment's thought. "There is no way to secure the line and Soundwave would soon intercept it. Once you are airborne please use the usual method to contact base and appraise them of our situation only once you are able to do so in person."

 

"Understood," Fowler said.

 

The thrumming of a helicopter approached. Optimus pulled over and the agent climbed out. Jack found himself relaxing once he was alone with Optimus again. As they rolled down the highway he realized he'd missed this; just riding in silence knowing Optimus was there to talk to if he needed it. It was as if the Autobot had the ability to share his strength with those he protected.

 

But as the miles rolled by under the eighteen wheels questions began to swim to the top of Jack's mind. Curiosity was burning its way through his self control.

 

"Are you really going to stand for this?" Jack finally asked.

 

"Are you referring to you government's request for silence?" Optimus asked.

 

"Yes," Jack nearly snarled out. "The rules Fowler laid out on the way to drop off Sal were ridiculous. Not looking into the weird stuff, not contacting the Franklins again, not telling any of the other Autobots what really happened. I mean have you ever kept anything from the others?"

 

"Yes," the single syllable stopped Jack mid tirade.

He blinked in surprise and tried to think of something to say. The thought of Optimus deceiving a friend, or even misleading one just did not compute.

 

"Many times over the centuries soldiers have confided things to me," Optimus replied, "things it behooved me to keep from others. My position as Prime comes with the burden of many secrets Jack. This one will simply be another in a list that is far too long. The others trust that I would not keep anything from them without good reason, and that I would never hide something that would endanger them."

 

"Yes, but why are you trusting us, our government," Jack demanded. "We sure haven't earned a trust like that."

 

"Jack, we will not always live here in secrecy." Optimus replied, his voice heavy with memories. "One day Megatron and his Decpticons will no longer be a threat to either of our races. When that day comes there must be more between us than fear of a shared enemy. There must be friendship, understanding, and trust. These must be built over time. Trust is especially hard to build, slow to develop, quickly destroyed. For trust to grow someone must place the seeds and then nurture them. Someone must be the first to show trust."

 

Jack blinked down at the dash completely at a loss for words. They rode in silence for some time.

 

"Do you require assistance with you academics?" Optimus finally asked.

 

Jack could feel the gentle smile in his voice and took the hint. He pulled out his notebook and got to work. If Optimus Prime was willing to make that kind of investment in their future he could put out some effort as well.

 

The Last of the Primes watched the human diligently working away at his studies.

 

'And because this race, capable of evil every bit as great as our own, is also capable of producing ones such as you, youngling,' he whispered softly in old Cybertronian.


	14. Family

Blood and Energon 14

Family

A Transformers Prime FanFiction

 

Zechariah Franklin paused in ministering to the one he called brother to stare expressionlessly out the garage windows. A red and blue semi rolled out of the lot pulling a silver trailer. The tall young man let the smallest of wistful sighs escape him before turning back to his task. Bright lights shone down from a high ceiling on three different big rigs. Two were fairly new Kenworths in for basic maintenance. Before the human was a torn and twisted Peterbilt 281 "Needlenose" semi. It had been light blue once but was smeared with dirt and grime. Gaping holes had been punched through the engine hood and cab. Aluminum 'skin was peeled back and curled in a dozen places.

 

The repair bay buzzed with quiet life. Three or four men in stained coveralls hustled around bringing tools and welding odd bits of metal. The young man was slowly and carefully pulling metal splinters out of a mass of leathery black flesh that seemed to encase the entire engine. The mass shone dully in the bright bay lights. Tendrils of varying length and thickness reached out of the main body to coil around levers and fuse with cables. Every time the pliers gently tugged out a splinter the tendrils would twitch slightly in pain. The work went on silently for several hours, the young man stopping occasionally to examine the patient from another angle or shine a light.

 

"What's this?" he asked reaching back into a dark recess of the engine compartment. 

He pulled out a large, wedge shaped piece of metal. In the light of the repair bay it was dull gunmetal grey, about the length of his arm, and articulated at two points. Scratches and acid burs marred the surface. It looked almost like a…

 

"Sal?" there was no response to his sharp voice. "Salcha Franklin , is this a finger?"

 

"Maybe," a deep voice muttered from the engine. 

The tendrils coiled in tightly as if the creature was trying to make itself smaller.

 

Zech let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

 

"Sal, what are the rules about eating people bits?" he asked heavily.

 

"Hey!" Sal protested. "The seeker drones aren't seni…sent…setni… they don't have minds like real people! I don't think. And besides it was already dead when I picked them up."

 

"Them?" Zech arched his eyebrows at the truck.

 

With a wet smacking sound four more of the appendages were reluctantly pushed out of the recesses of the engine. The human gathered them up and dumped the grisly things into a plastic bin.

 

"We'll give 'em to Johnson when he gets back. Sal," Zech looked at him seriously, "Don't do this again."

 

The creature let out an exasperated sigh.

 

"Sal I'm serious!" his brother insisted. "We have no idea how you'll react to these elements. For all we know it could be a poison for you."

 

"It's not," Sal said flatly.

 

"And how do you know that?" Zech demanded.

 

"Because unlike some species I could mention I can read my own body's reactions well enough to know when I'm ingesting something bad for me," he snapped back. "These alien types are a very good source of nutrients for a growing blood monster."

 

"Sal," Zech said as he slid the bin under a battered workbench. "Don't say that. You are not a monster."

 

"Oh?" there was bitterness in the deep voice, "by who's definition exactly?"

 

Before the human could answer the man door to the bay flew open and admitted a swirling mass of chaos. Three little girls in bright pink fleeces and worn blue jeans charged in, arms full of cardboard boxes. Curly, jet black hair was cropped short or pulled back into thick pony tails. Smooth caramel colored skin surrounded eye's such a deep purple they were nearly black. Six little eyes widened in horror when they fell on the twisted machine carrying the tentacles. The tallest of the little girls carefully set her boxes down on a convenient bucket and dramatically flung her hands into the air with a scream. Or perhaps scream isn't the right word. Every living creature in the bay flinched away from the high pitched sonic assault which seemed to drag on far longer than could be accounted for by the girl's small lung capacity.

"Oh! My precious big brother has been terribly wounded. Whatever shall we do?" she finally called out dramatically pulling on her close cropped hair.

 

"Why dear sister. We must nurse him back to health!" the second little girl said firmly, dropping her boxes roughly on the ground and producing a large glass thermometer out of thin air.

 

"Yes let's!" squealed the smallest.

 

"Ah, sissies. Wait just a minute, he still has a lot of sharp bits," Zech called helplessly as they swarmed the semi clucking and chirping worriedly.

 

"Oh, lookit at all the lil bits of ouchie stuck in you Sally," the oldest one called.

 

"Oooo, those could be infected. He'll need a lot of shots" the middle girl said gleefully pulling out a foam syringe.

 

"Let's check da temperature!" piped in the smallest grabbing the two foot long glass instrument out of her sister's hand and began eyeballing the leathery mass for a suitable target.

 

Sal coiled his tentacles as close into his body as he could.

 

"And just where?" He called out. "Are you planning to stick that Dee?"

 

"Where did you even get that thing?" Zech demanded snatching it up. "I didn't even know they made mercury thermometers this big anymore. And I said get off Sal, he's hurt and you could get hurt on the torn metal."

 

"Wow this must have been some wreck? Were you speeding? It smells like you were speeding," declared the oldest one, examining the twisted engine compartment from her perch on top of the cab.

 

"Get down from there now," Sal called frantically, "I'm all sharp and pointy right now."

His tentacles reached up to grab the girl but she easily dodged them. Zech had the smallest one and was trying to coax her sisters down when a powerful voice boomed out through the area. 

"Ya'll chillens get down off'a your big brother right now!" the voice ordered. 

 

Like lightening the three little terrors were lined up in front the injured big rig with identical angelic expressions on their faces. A tall broad woman strode into the bay. The lights gleamed off ebony skin. She wore faded blue jeans and a well filled brown leather flight jacket. Her long black hair was twisted into a bun at the base of her neck. Her eyes showed the lines of much laughter, and tears.

 

"Now," she said in a brisk tone, "as you can all see Sal and Zech are alive and are doing fine. I know you want to help them right?"

 

"Right!" three little voices chorused.

 

"You;" she pointed a worn finger at the oldest, "go tell Uncle Jimmy we're here. You; get the food out of the boxes. You; go help Aunt Jenna get dinner on."

"Yes Mama!" the three girls leapt to their appointed tasks.

 

Jasmine "Ma" Franklin strode over to the damaged truck and leapt up to where Zech had retreated from the feminine onslaught. She immediately wrapped one arm around the young man and reached down with the other to gently stroke the leathery mass of Sal's exposed skin.

 

"Oh my poor lil boys. I heard from the troopers that ya'll was hurt bad and rushed right down," she murmured.

Zech leaned into the hug and Sal reached up to wrap as many tendrils around her powerful forearm as he could. They intertwined with her gold bracelets making a striking contrast up her arm.

 

"How'd you get here so fast Ma?" Zech asked curiously.

 

"Oh. I jus hopped in Romeo Alpha and landed her out back," she shrugged. "Sometimes I think you forget your mamma has a pilot's license and a plane," she scolded him gently.

 

"Now," she stepped back and glared at her oldest son.

Once she divined that neither of 'her boys' was fatally injured her sympathy-o-meter dropped dangerously. 

 

"You tell me right now Zechariah Franklin," she growled. "Were you speeding when this happened?"

 

"No, no way Ma. We were totally still," Zech protested, but hesitated.

 

Sal rumbled in hurried assent.

 

"Boys," Ma drawled out, "There's sumpin you ain't tellin me."

 

"Yes Ma there is," Zech said quickly. "Agent Johnson forbade us to."

 

The woman eyed the two of them suspiciously but nodded slowly.

 

"The troopers were sayin sumptin bout the Mounties tellin the border guards about some big cover-up on the highway," she mused.

 

"Yeah, that was us," Sal said.

 

She glanced down at the twisted metal and a look of pain crossed her face.

 

"Oh baby, this had ta hurt you so bad," she whispered as she stroked the aluminum.

The injuries were serious but hardly life threatening. The initial stress of the incident was passing and she was calming down. Her thick Georgian accent began to fade a bit.

 

"Ah, not too bad," the tendrils somehow gave the impression of shrugging. "I was so hyped up on endorphins from the fight, ow!"

 

Zech had slammed a handy wrench into the side of the cab with a clang.

 

"Hey! Federal gag order, remember?" he demanded.

 

"Oh, yeah," Sal muttered.

 

Jasmine looked searchingly at the two of them. Zech appeared to be fine. No physical injuries and only intensely concentrated on helping his brother recover. Sal however, she could feel the tightness in his flesh; hear the discomfort in his voice. This went beyond mere physical pain, which the young one was very skilled at controlling. Something was bothering him, something he needed to talk about. Mother senses tingling Ma Franklin pulled on a set of leather gloves and picked up a set of pliers.

 

"Well," she said briskly. "Seeing how you boys seem ta have a good excuse for all this, and believe me I will be checking in with Johnson, I'll jus skip the usual interrogation and get down ta helpin you get fixed up. Cadence!"

 

The middle sister, sporting a back length pony tail, popped up from the boxes where she'd been sorting quart jars, and tilted her head to one side.

 

"You," Jasmine snapped, "make a plate up for Zech and start bringing the raw food to Sal."

 

"Yes, Mama. Plate for Zechy, raw food for Sally," Cadence repeated.

 

"Sal-CHA," the big rig growled at her, "It's Sal-CHA! Get it right Candy"

 

The little girl grinned impishly as she loaded a paper plate with food.

 

"Sally is cuter!" She insisted. 

 

"I'm not cute!" Sal snapped.

"Yes you is!" She returned. 

 

"Are," Zech corrected with a smile as he accepted the plate.

 

"Are," she repeated dutifully. "You want strawberries Sally?"

 

He sighed in surrender and assented. The girl picked up a bag of berries and began tossing them into the engine compartment. The leathery flesh guided the little wild berries down into several round mouths that opened just long enough to snap the fruit down with a ring of sharp pointy structures that a scientist had once spent several hours explaining to Sal weren't really teeth. The berries that flew wide of their mark Sal snatched up with his tentacles. When the berries were gone Candy started feeding him the garden carrots.

 

A snort of derision sounded from the far corner of the bay.

 

"What are you feeding that poor cub?" a deep growling voice demanded. "A warrior needs flesh!"

 

A happy squeal erupted from Candy when she saw the furry figure reclining against one of the Kenworths and she flung the entire bundle of carrots at Sal before rushing over to fling her arms around his neck. A massive white wolf bent his head down to lick the little girl fondly.

 

"Amarok!" Zech called out happily, "I never got a chance to thank you for shielding us when," the young man stopped and glanced nervously at his mother who only arched an eyebrow and kept pulling out splinters.

 

"Well when you shielded us," Zech finished grinning.

 

"Yes, thanks for protecting them," Salcha seconded.

 

"It was nothing," the wolf said easily, his main attention clearly on the little girl who had climbed up on his back and was busy pulling his ears.

 

"I searched you out when the Caretaker warned me someone was stalking you," the wolf explained, "and found you and your friend crouched behind the earthbone. It seemed wise to get you out of the way for a bit. Once the fight was over I thought Sal might need something a little more substantial than grazer food to heal." 

The wolf reached a paw under the Kenwoth and pulled out the still warm carcass of a young moose.

 

Sal started drooling as the wolf stood to carry it over to him.

 

"Oh no you don't," Ma Franklin said firmly, placing herself between the wolf and her boy. "Sal's in no shape to digest a moose right now, not with that gash in his side."

She pointed to where Breakdown had ripped out one of Sal's steel ribs, leaving a long deep wound.

 

"But Ma," Sal pleaded. "Fresh, raw wild game, and I do need the protein." 

He tried to sound as hungry a possible.

 

"Well, if someone will cut out the soft bits for you so you don't have to deal with the bones and tendons just yet," she relented.

 

Amarok dropped the carcass in front of Sal and indicated the main house with his nose.

 

"Enjoy," he said, "as long as you're down here I'm going to be playing with my bond cub and her sisters."

 

"Of course, don't let the girls get away with anything," Jasmine said, relieved to have him there to watch out for the children.

 

Zech had already hung the moose up and begun to field dress it. He handed the softer inner organs to Sal while Ma continued pulling out fragments. Finally she leaned back and stretched.

 

"All right boys," she said with a sigh. "We need ta talk."

 

Zech stood up from the nearly gone moose carcass and started to speak. Ma guessed what he was thinking and shook her head.

 

"Not about whatever fight ya'll got in." She clarified. "You just better have won that. We need ta discuss the future, not the past." 

She looked down at Sal with a serious expression on her face. 

"Whoever gave you this beatdown only hurried things up a bit." She stated. "That ol' Petercar body wasn't long for this world anyway. But now the engine's dead, the frame's warped, and the skin's beyond repair. So we need to decide what you're going to do."

 

They were silent for awhile. Finally Sal spoke up.

 

"I want to stay a truck." He said. 

"You sure?" Ma asked. "You're big enough now, got enough mass, we could grow you into a human shape pretty easy with a little help from Cy tribe."

 

"I'm sure," Sal said. "I like being useful, like the open road. I like the power. I want to stay a truck."

 

"You know either way we're gonna have to get the old engine out of you," Zech pointed out, "and you've been growing around that for nearly forty years now. That's gonna hurt."

 

"Yep," Sal said grimly.

He was not looking forward to that, or the forcible extraction from his frame the switch would require.

 

"I want to stay a Peterbilt too. I think that will make the new assimilation easier," he continued. "But I want to upgrade. A 381 at least, unless they have something newer. Uh, guys?"

 

Zech was looking at his mother curiously, and she was examining her nails smugly.

 

"Ma, what gives?" Sal asked a little nervously.

 

"Well son'o'mine," she drawled, "you know I been planning for this day since Pa Franklin introduced me ta the two precious kiddos that came along with him?"

 

"Really?" he asked in surprise.

 

"Yep," she nodded eagerly. "Ya'll know I come from an old truckin family. Well I always wanted to design my own rig. So I started asking around when it became clear you'd eventually eat yourself out of cab and frame. I made friends with this nice old gal in the Petercar company and she's had a new frame in the works for the past few years; stronger, lighter, and just all around a better fit for you."

 

"Thanks Ma, that's great," Sal said softly.

There was something in his tone suddenly, something hesitant. Zech glanced at his mom and read the look she gave him.

 

"Well if that's settled, I think I'll go get a shower now," he said cheerfully.

 

Another of Sal's sudden mood swings was on him. He needed his Ma. The young man kissed his mother on the cheek and threw his brother an affectionate punch. Once he was out the door Jasmine Franklin stretched and leaned back against the battered remains of Sal's cab. The pale northern afternoon faded slowly as she waited for him to speak.

 

"Ma?" he asked finally.

 

"Yes dearest," she answered gently.

 

"I, do you think, I mean," he stumbled to a halt with a frustrated growl.

Ma felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up at the subsonics but only snuggled closer to the being she called son. Finally Sal gave up on the question.

 

"I messed up big time," his voice small with shame.

 

Ma reached in and gently stroked him as he went on.

 

"There's no point in hiding it from you I guess," he said. "The rumors are bound to reach you sooner or later. Zech and I were involved in a big fight last night. Aankaawu Yeil had tried something funny in White Horse but he didn't get me he got the rig we were buddying with."

 

"Ravens!" Ma snorted, "trash eaters trash spitters."

 

"Yeah, but his plan?" Sal said. "It kinda worked, it just missed. Our buddy got all weak and his enemies were able to find him. Any way we fought them off but Red Warrior, that's the one we were buddying with got hurt. He was bleeding and, well he willingly shared his life's blood with me."

 

Ma blinked in surprise. She still wasn't entirely following the story but that was nothing to sniff at no matter how you cut it.

 

"He was amazing Ma." Sal said, his voice straining with emotions. "He can fight like Kagsakgsuk when he was strong, he's kind as a mother wolf, and he is as willing to teach as Amarok. To top it all off he can shift to stand like a man."

 

Jasmine had seen a host of strange things since she'd come north seeking adventure after high school. So it wasn't the unbelievable truck man he described that caused the frown to cross her face. It was the misery that permeated Sal's voice.

 

"So," she said, "ya'll made a good buddy and won a good fight. I really don't see how that means you messed up."

 

"I behaved badly afterwards. I tried to take his charge, a boy, deny his mentorship," Sal said, shame in every word. "I was unforgivably rude to him. He had willingly shared his life's blood with me and I all but threw a shoe at him."

 

"Why sweetheart?" Ma asked, "You was never jealous when you brothers and sisters got their bond uncles. And you and Amarok get along like a barn afire."

 

"He is a void walker," Sal whispered shaking.

 

The part of her brain that was Jasmine the young adventurer stood up and screamed. Her son had had a close encounter of the third kind. This was the fulfillment of a hundred childhood dreams. But the part of her that was a mother rose up and banished the screaming child. She reached out with both hands and held the trembling being.

 

"Oh baby," she crooned, "you musta been so scared."

 

Sal wrapped his tendrils tightly around her forearms. Ma always understood.

 

"I shouldn't hate him like this I know." Sal said. "He looked at me Ma, saw me for what I was, and he was still so kind and forgiving. He doesn't have to have a steady supply of human blood to live. He doesn't start fights with other tribes over stupid territorial instincts. He doesn't chew on the bones of his fallen enemies. He's the perfect ally for humanity. How can we compete with that?"

 

"Oh sweetheart." Jasmine crooned. "You never have to compete for our love, you know that. There was a Franklin there for you when you first opened your heart to this world. I know cuz I was there! And no matter how many generations you out live lil 'ol me the Clan will be there for you. We're not jus gonna dump you, any of ya'll, for some smooth void walker."

 

Sal let out a sigh and let her arms loose; coiling his tendrils down in shame.

 

"I know that," he muttered, "in my mind I know that. But I still get jealous just thinking that somewhere in the lower forty-eight some void-walker is right now taking responsibility for some child's life." 

Sal stopped speaking with a fresh surge of shame as he saw Ma flinch involuntarily at his subsonic growl.

 

"Do you think, Ma," he asked, "do you think I can ever learn to get over this stupid jealously to like him? Respect him?"

 

"Why is that so important to you?" she asked in turn, "Sounds to me like you'll never see him again."

 

"I know Zech likes science, space, that kind of stuff." Sal explained. "If the void walkers ever become common I don't want to hold him back. I want him to be able to meet them, talk to them, but I know he'll never leave me behind, so I'll have to go with him."

 

"Salcha, do you remember the first time you spoke?" she asked.

 

"Of course I do," Sal said in confusion.

 

"Tell me the story again," she said gently.

 

"You and Pa were just courting." He said. "You were driving on a short haul with Zech in the back and were discussing what you wanted to name any children you might have. I realized I didn't know my name and so I asked you."

 

"And I was so shocked, I had kinda half believed what Kip had told me about you up till then, but not really. But I was so shocked that I just said the first name I saw," she continued with a smile.

 

"So that's how I was named after a little town in Alaska," Sal finished happily reminiscing.

 

"Yes," she went on, "and do you remember the second question you asked me?"

 

"Will I ever be able to love Zech? Because I want to be his brother so bad, and I know that brothers need to love each other and I didn't know if a blood monster like me could love," Sal said happily at the memory.

 

"And what did I say?" She asked.

 

Sal fell silent when he saw where she was going with this.

 

"That who I was, was a lot more important than what I was, and if I was capable of asking the question, then I already knew the answer," he finally said.


	15. Loose Ends

**Blood and Energon 15**

**Loose Ends**

**A Transformers Prime FanFiction**

**Outside Jasper Nevada**

 

Jack Darby felt the wave of wellbeing wash over him as they pulled onto the home stretch; that long arrow of cracked blacktop that led straight into the butte. It never failed to invigorate him. He wondered idly if Optimus felt the same way as he leaned forward eagerly, hands lightly resting on the steering wheel. Suddenly the semi jerked to the side. Jack sensed the Autobot release control. He felt a brief moment of panic but managed to bring the big rig back in line before they went off the road.

 

"So I guess that means I shouldn't relax until we're safely in the base?" Jack asked with a grin, "because we're still exposed out here."

 

"In a time of war such as this, a leader rarely has the luxury of letting his guard down completely Jack," the Prime said simply. "You must always be prepared to react."

The words might have sounded like a reprimand, but the human could sense the quiet approval of the mech. He had passed the test.

 

They rolled off the asphalt and the cliff face opened to admit them into the cool darkness of the caves. Jack spotted his mom's car parked in the usual place. The rest of the Autobots were standing around the main computer console waiting for them with nervous expressions. Raf and Miko stood on the platform in front of the Optimus eased around and backed up to the storage area.

 

"Arcee, Bumblebee." Optimus addressed his troops. "Please unload the equipment so Ratchet may begin integrating it immediately. Bulkhead please begin rearranging storage bay B to accommodate the ore that will be arriving via the groundbridge later."

 

The sleek blue fembot smiled at Jack and turned to her assigned task. The human smiled back at her leaned into Optimus's side as he dealt with the other Autobots. 

 

"Ah ah! First you are going to have a decontamination bath and a through exam," Ratchet said firmly. "Fowler briefed us on your little encounter with the Decepticon."

 

Optimus transformed and gently set Jack down beside the other humans on the walk way.

 

"And that means both of you," the medibot continued with a nod at the human. "Nurse Darby is preparing the lab for you as we speak Jack."

 

"Actually Ratchet," Optimus interjected, "I was rather looking forward to a, hot shower, I believe Arcee called it. If our human friends don't mind assisting, I'll take it after Jack is properly rested."

 

Ratchet hesitated. The thought of replacing the very effective decontamination method of an energon bath with this aquatic alternative didn't sit well with him. But it did appear to be adequate, and saved a great deal of the precious fuel.

 

"Hey! Can we help? I'll go get my swimsuit," Miko called out gleefully, sprinting towards the human's living area.

 

"Jack!" June's voice rang through the base. 

 

Optimus turned to look at the woman who came hurrying out of Ratchet's lab. She was smiling eagerly as she took Jack in her arms, but the Prime could see the shadow of fear in her eyes.

 

"We heard there was an attack and we couldn't contact you," she said holding the young man out at arm's length to examine him. "I was so worried."

 

"Everything was fine Mom," Jack assured her, squeezing her hands gently. "As soon as it came to fighting Optimus hid me off in the woods while he trashed the cons. They never stood a chance."

 

The Prime smiled slightly at this version of events, but did nothing to correct the human. He was all too familiar with the art of tailoring the truth to soothe the fears of loved ones left behind. June Darby smiled up at Optimus.

 

"Well thank you for taking care of my son," she said, "but now it's time for you to shower and get some rest," she continued.

 

"Sure Mom as soon as we get Optimus washed down," Jack said, "He's had one hard trip."

 

Under most circumstances the Prime would have insisted Jack tend first to his own needs. But he saw within this young human the potential to be a great leader, potential that needed to be nurtured. One of the most difficult lessons Optimus had had to learn over his millennia of leadership was that it was only through the hardship of personal sacrifice, that one would grow. Sometimes, for the sake of the future he had to step aside and let another make that sacrifice however small it might seem.

 

June seemed about to protest as Jack headed for the wash bay but stopped. She looked searchingly at his retreating back then up at the leader of the Autobots. Something passed between them in that moment; a sense of shared responsibility for this budding life. The woman nodded slightly and followed after her son.

 

Optimus strode into the tall bay and activated the high pressure shower heads. Arcee had been very accurate in her description. After a few minutes the odd sensation was quite enjoyable, and the detergent was very effective at cleansing his plating of the road dust. The best part however came when the humans came out with the detail brushes. The Prime knelt down as the three children and Mrs. Darby scrubbed away at his back and shoulders. Miko threw herself into the task, her strokes fast and hard. Raf was more timid, gently stroking the sensitive joints. Jack and his mother shared a similar technique. Steady firm strokes that left his armor feeling clean and refreshed.

 

After the final rinse June shooed all three children towards the bathroom setup Ratchet had had installed in his lab. Jack made sure Miko and Raf got cleaned up first then indulged himself in a long hot shower. He had decided to ignore all the odd things he was seeing; the little animals that darted across the floor of the base, the eyes that stared out of the dark corners. They were all slowly fading as time passed. He figured if he told Fowler the Fed would just tell him to keep quiet about it anyway, and the ability to sense living energon might come in useful. Besides both his mom and Optimus had enough to worry about, no need to burden them with one more issue.

 

The phrase, 'I feel human again!' rather confused Optimus, but as he had heard June use it on more than one occasion he only smiled slightly when Jack made the declaration on exiting the shower. What species exactly had he felt like before?

 

Ratchet had fussed over his injuries as expected and was none too pleased when Optimus refused to explain them in any but the vaguest terms. June was equally disturbed over their silence about the trip but determining that Jack was completely uninjured appeared to soothe her greatly. She called Optimus aside and quietly thanked him again for protecting her son. The Prime humbly accepted the mother's gratitude.

 

"Jack is a very capable young man Mrs. Darby," the Prime said, "It was a pleasure to have him along and his presence was ultimately essential to the successful outcome of our mission. He will make an excellent soldier in time."

 

June Darby nodded glowing at the compliment and shivering at the implications. She had had time now to grow used to the idea that Jack planned on joining the military to continue working with the Autobots, but seeing him in that uniform had made it all too real.

 

"It is frightening to send the young one out," Optimus murmured.

June glanced up at him in surprise. The mech was gazing down at her gently. She nodded in response. It amazed her how often this alien creature could understand what she was going through.

 

"But we have to let them leave the nest and try their wings," she responded softly.

 

They stood in companionable silence. The Prime and the mother pondering the future, and how one human might shape it.

 

**Two Weeks Later**

**Eielson Air Force Base Alaska**

 

"But why can't I have a rocket launcher?" a deep voice somehow managed to whine despite being several octaves lower than any human could produce. "I'd be careful and never use it on civilian populations."

 

On a wide flat tarmac under a cloudy sky a gunmetal grey semi rolled along after Chief Master Sergeant Larry D. Meier, III. like a giant puppy. The rig bore the red oval logo and general shape of a Peterbilt 381 but an experienced eye would notice several subtle modifications. The tall broad shouldered man it was following stopped and rubbed his gleaming brown scalp in frustration.

 

"For the last time," Meier growled out, "you are a civilian, we don't trust high level ordinance to most of our military personal. There is no way I am going to give you that kind of firepower. You already have enough modifications to take out anything on the ground today at close range, and that is more than what you need for self defense."

The sergeant glared at him, waiting for his reply. 

"Yeah," Sal whined, "but I'm not worried about what might hit me on the ground I'm more concerned with."

 

"Sal, stop talking now," the usually friendly soldier was deadly calm now. " _they_ are none of your concern. You did good in B.C., better than good. But we need to take care of this ourselves. You know that. If you are attacked again nobody will fault you for defending yourself. But you know what the cost will be if it even looks like we can't handle them ourselves. You know how many people will die."

 

The semi fell silent.

 

" The military has agreed to fund your upgrades because the geeks in R&D say they can learn enough from analyzing you to push medical science ahead a good three decades." The Sargent went on. "That means better prosthetic integration, maybe even a way to regenerate limbs for our injured boys. That is why you are here, not so they can turn you into the next super weapon."

 

"I understand," Sal said quietly.

 

"Good," the man nodded, "now get over to the test range. Mr. Franklin is waiting for you. Fitting for your new straps begins in at seventeen-hundred hours."

 

"Not even an unarmed drone?" Sal said sadly as he pulled away.

 

The human only glared at him. But once the truck was out of sight Meier felt a wide grin creep over his face. He knew what it was like to want the good toys.

 

**Four weeks later**

**Megatron's Personal Lab, the Nemesis**

 

Megatron stood quietly in his lab, hands lightly clasped behind his back, purple eyes flicking over the two mechs before him. A bulky blue robot was restrained on one table trembling. A sleek red bot occupied the next tearing blankly into space from vacuous eyes. Both bots had a strange dull look about them, as if neither had seen polish or wax for decacycles. Just behind the towering Decepticon Lord a rangy purple femme stood attentively with a slight smirk on her face.

 

"This procedure has what, a one in twenty chance of succeeding?" she asked of the tall mech.

 

"Roughly," he replied, "there are far too many unknowns to calculate the odds exactly."

 

"And it will be extremely painful regardless of weather it works or not?" her honey smooth voice went on.

 

"Undoubtedly," Megatron growled never taking his eyes off the faces of the insensible Decpticons. "What exactly is your point?"

 

"Oh you know me my Lord," Airachnid smirked as she stepped forward to trigger the machine, "I like to know the details before the show starts."

She ran her servos lightly over the command consul and stepped back.

 

"It is begun." She said in a crisp professional tone. 

 

The red mech suddenly arched his back and screamed. He strained against the bonds holding him to the table for a few seconds then went limp. The displays over his head resumed a normal rhythm.

 

"Is that all?" the spider-bot pouted. "Really Lord Megatron, I was hoping for more of a show."

 

"Sorry to disappoint," a weak voice gasped out.

 

"Report Knockout," Megatron ordered.

 

"Well," the red mech purred with as much suaveness as he could summon from flat on his back. "You ordered myself and Breakdown to investigate an odd energon reading. We bridged to some location in the middle of nowhere. And now I'm waking up here in desperate need of a plate buffer."

 

Megatron's optics narrowed.

 

"You do not recall tracking Optimus Prime and summoning air support?" he asked quietly.

 

Knockout shivered in his helpless position. The wrong answer could get him offlined.

 

"No my Lord," he opted for honesty, "I can't say I recall any of that."

 

"Perform the procedure on Breakdown," Meagatron ordered, turning away from his medic abruptly. 

The red mech was of no further use to him at the moment.

 

Airachnid triggered the system again. Knockout turned toward his fellow mech with an expressionless face, it was never wise to show true emotion in front of the Decpticon leader. This time the results satisfied even the sadistic spiderbot's expectations. As the energy surged through the blue mech he began to twitch, then struggle, then scream. The bonds protested at his strength. One snapped under the strain and the 'con began clawing wildly at his face. Megatron looked down at his soldier in disdain. The fusion cannon on his arm surged to life.

 

"Breakdown!" Knockout called weakly but desperately. "Breakdown, we're on the Nemesis, we're safe." 

_'Relatively speaking,'_ he thought to himself as he saw Megatron lower the cannon.

 

At the sound of the red mech's voice Breakdown paused and looked vaguely in his direction.

 

"Knockout?" He whispered, "are you there?"

 

"I'm right here you idiot." Knockout said in a tight tone. "Our Lord Megatron wants a status report. Can you oblige him?"

 

"We were following the Autobots," Breakdown whispered turning toward the towering Decepticon, "but it was so long ago. The shadow people kept us for so long."

 

His lone optic roved over Megatron's bulk, then Ariachnid's lithe form and he began to tremor.

 

"The shadows," he continued hoarsely, "the shadows have you both. We were protected...Knockout protected us...he was protected...but you-"

 

"What happened when you engaged the Autobots?" Megatron demanded.

 

"Autobot," Breakdown said, "there was only one, Optimus. The other, it was no Cybertronian. It wasn't real, didn't belong to this, this world. We fought them but it marked me. It marked me and the shadow people found us by the mark. They said so."

 

"Ah, Lord Megatron," Knockout hazarded when Breakdown seemed to drift off for a moment, "Precisely how long have we been gone?"

 

"That is an interesting question Knockout," Megatron turned his attention to the medic. "According to the Nemesis's logs your last contact was over forty-three solar cycles ago. When we discovered you ten cycles ago, wandering aimlessly around the eastern edge of the continent, I had you internal chrono circuitry scanned. It held no data for that time period."

 

"That's impossible," Knockout protested, even as he ran a diagnostic himself.

It was true. There was some gap in his internal records. The internal systems of all Cybertronians were set to give accurate temporal readings even in the event of being sucked into a singularity. He felt fear trickling down his backstrut.

 

"Yes, and interesting scientific question," Megatron mused calling up a data display and waving for Ariachind to release the medic. 

 

Knockout staggered over to the screen feeling suddenly very old.

 

"Impossible," he whispered staring at the screen.

 

"Indeed," Megatron replied, "By analyzing the energon in your veins it was clear that it was from the same batch you received before you left. From your energon usage you were gone perhaps sixty cycles from your last refueling. However the degradation pattern on you mesh would suggest centuries of cosmic radiation exposure. You have no memory of the events…"

 

"Time."

All three mechs turned toward the figure on the table. Breakdown was staring intently at Knockout's spark chamber.

 

"They kept us until the humans could escape." He said in a horse tone. "They said they didn't care about the blood demon, couldn't see Optimus, but the humans must live." 

He began to tremble visibly.

"We were a threat." He whispered. "I was marked. I am sorry Knockout. They came for me and found you."

 

"Enough!" Megatron turned and strode to the door. "Knockout! You have a solar cycle to get him functional again. We have more important things to attend to than one malfunctioning glitch. If he's not coherent by then recycle him." 

The mech left with his dark second in tow. A younger Megatron would have been fascinated by the mystery presented here, but lust for power had subjugated even curiosity over the eons.

 

Knockout bent over Breakdown and rested a hand on his chest plates. The blue mech seemed to be calmer now that Megatron was gone.

 

"The shadows have Lord Megatron," he whispered and began clawing at his face again. 

Knockout swiftly initiated stasis lock and his assistant fell silent. He had little time to save him. The mystery would have to wait.

 

**Otis Café**

**Oregon Coast**

 

A grey haired man strolled into a small café in the Pacific Northwest. He was dressed warmly in a faded blue winter coat and baseball cap to protect against the ever present drizzle. Six others glanced up from the only occupied table in the café. For the most part they were ordinary looking middle aged men that might be found in any American or European city. They had reached the age where time has a greater effect on their features than genetics. All had an air of authority. These were men used to being in command. Only one of the men might be called young. 

 

This one glanced over at the plump woman behind the counter and nodded slightly. She smiled at them and brought over a basket of steaming bread rolls and a fresh pitcher of tea. The bell clinked softly as she left, locking the door and turning the closed sign behind her. The man turned to his fellows and let a frown settle on his face.

 

"Have you all been briefed?" He asked in a businesslike tone. 

 

They went around the table each nodding. One looked hesitant however. The other men sighed inwardly. He was new to this, he would learn, they all had, but that meant wasted time. The late comer began to explain the situation, slowly and simply. They could not afford misunderstandings. There was no time to waste in rushing. Finally the new one shook his head.

 

"I am still not sure I understand or fully believe all this," he said rubbing his eyes. "But really, does that matter? I believe the moon landing happened with less proof than I have been shown regarding this," he stopped at loss for words, "this mystic duty," he finished. "This wasn't in the job description, but when I took responsibility for California I knew I was getting in over my head, I just didn't know how deep. I will try my best to aid you whatever means I can, but to be honest I don't even know why you called me."

 

"The void walker passed through your territory Ed," the first one spoke up again, adjusting his thick glasses. "That alone is enough to put your people at risk."

 

"Steve?" Ed asked cautiously, "Why 'void walkers' exactly? That name was never explained to me."

 

"Very few of the signatories to the counsel of Erie can understand space and time as we do." Ed explained. "To them the vast reaches of outer space are a trackless void. They see no stars, no new worlds, only an unknowable threat." 

 

He spoke clearly, as if he was teaching a class. 

 

"Our ability to see and understand that vastness," he gestured upward, "was the main reason we were chosen to be the guardians of this realm."

 

"But the dragons can see the stars too," the old man said in confusion, "far better than we can, and they are more powerful to boot."

 

"Yes, individually they are more powerful," another man spoke up, "but they are relativity few and breed slowly. Moreover, for the most part they are bound to specific areas of this world. While they may have far greater powers of logic than us it was deemed our imaginative ability would serve us better against an unknowable threat."

 

"But to stay on track," the late comer said. "We are here for three reasons. One; make sure we are all aware of what has happened." 

He glanced around the table.

 

"An alien life form was injured by Raven and exposed to a blood demon. Two more were captured and held by the old ones. The blood demon got a taste of the alien's life blood and of the flesh of another," summed up another of the men. "All this in Clan controlled territory."

 

"No, we don't know if Sal is a blood demon," corrected another man. "He is definitely sentient and sapient for one thing and for another he is fully capable of forming emotional attachments. Either of those disqualify him from that designation."

 

"So what is he?" demanded Ed.

 

"For the sake of this conversation we only need to know that he is one of the others and he has a strong attachment to the Franklin family and therefore the Clan," Steven stated.

 

"Reason two;" another voice went on, "pool our information to see if the others are aware of our guests yet."

 

"The old ones held them for six weeks our time but didn't realize what they had," one man said.

 

"Sal knows but will remain silent to protect the Franklins," another offered.

 

"Amarok sensed danger but assumed it was Russian aggression," another said 

 

"Raven noticed something suspicious," another said, "but doesn't give a rip, won't investigate. Out of sight out of mind."

 

"Wolf tribe cast the interference over the western half of Canada at the request of the Caretaker, but assumed American aggression towards the Russians."

 

"Man those old cold war sentiments come in handy," muttered the oldest of the men with a chuckle.

 

"So we can safely assume we're in the clear," Ed said brightly.

 

Maybe he could get out of here fast after all. But the looks the others turned towards him, ranging from pity to disgust told him differently.

 

"You haven't spent the required night in the Winchester house yet, have you?" another asked him sourly.

 

"No, I didn't see the point," Ed said defensively.

 

"Do it. It will explain a lot," Steve said shortly. "We can only assume. The others might know everything by now. We have no idea who else the old ones might be in contact with. But I think for now we're safe to say there's nothing we can do directly so just keep your collective ear to the ground."

 

" Reason three; do we call a full counsel of governors?"

 

The men set back and each began to think; weighing the cost and effort to get one hundred thirty-seven leaders together in one place, from every corner of the northern hemisphere, without the rest of the world noticing.

 

"No."

 

"No."

 

One by one they all voted against it.

 

"But let me suggest this. The commanders in chief of each of the remaining descendants of the Erie Accord need to be brought up to speed," Steve said firmly. "They and they alone have the power to summon the power of North Clan if the need arises."

 

Uneasily they nodded in accord. The risks of that were all too clear. Few men could survive the stress of dealing with both the void and the depths. Fewer still could remain truly sane.

 

"So let us discuss ways of monitoring the others without tipping them off."

 

The meeting lasted long into the night.

 

**Six Months Later**

**I-5 southbound**

 

Breakdown rolled down the freeway enjoying the feel of the wind on his plating. There were fewer of the things on the big roads. The crawling creatures were growing more numerous by the day on the Nemesis. But no one else saw them, not even Soundwave. Afraid of showing any weakness, the powerful Decpticon refused to tell even Knockout of the things he was seeing.

 

Suddenly the bad feeling came again. Breakdown looked nervously around at the other vehicles. There, a few cars ahead; a semi the color of death. The mirrors tilted to get a better look at the approaching SUV. Breakdown felt fear rising up inside his spark. He cursed himself and willed his engine to accelerate toward the gunmetal grey apparition, but he only decelerated. The truck slowed down in turn. One by one the other cars passed them until they were alone on the blacktop. It was all Breakdown could do to keep from spinning around and tearing out at full speed.

 

"Well hey there," a deep voice growled. "Remember me?"

 

The 'con spun and jumped the guard rail, blindly fleeing from the terror.

 

"Why Zech," Sal said, mock offense in his voice, "I think he doesn't like me."

 

A dry chuckle came from the occupant of the cab.


End file.
